Watching The Clock

A Poem about Big Ben’s Bongs

Benumbed Big Ben (long may his grime be greased)

Awoke one noon to find his bongs had ceased

And, in the gloom, beheld a workman toil

Armed with a bag of tools and can of oil;

‘What brings you here?’ Ben asked. The kindly man

Smiled pityingly and raised his oily can,

‘I bring to life,’ he said, ‘each battered bell

That bongs no more but once served all men well.’

‘And shall I be among them?’ Big Ben said.

The workman turned and sadly shook his head.

‘Then,’ sighed the bell, ‘record one who was called

To bong his best, but, being cracked, was flawed!’

Four sombre years passed by in silence deep

When suddenly, as if aroused from sleep,

All London’s mighty bells rang loud and long

And lo! Big Ben produced the loudest bong.