The rhythm of 3 o'clock,
The dreams of grandpa's nap,
November and the woodbine knock,
Tick - tock, tick - tock, tip - tap.
All the lovely garden fruit
All the lovely wood,
The drum of middle afternoons,
The half and up of nod.
Pillows dance and winter comes,
The white before December,
An old nose nicks the creepers blue,
The yellow climbs remember.
The rhythm of 3 o'clock in taps—
Grandfather strums the tables,
And all the sighs of wood and vail
Tick - tock among the gables.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem