Marble floors and polished glass,
Shining like the mahogany grandfather clock
that gives off the scent of fresh pine and lemon.
It sits quietly in the corner
Observing.

Banisters gleam in the chandelier light,
Its crystals tinkling like the fine china at supper.
The cacophony of forks and plates fill the house.

The party dies slowly,
The sun peeking in through the verticals,
Yesterday is over.

The sun shines on the scuffed floor
revealing the scratches
slashed across its once beautiful surface.

The splintered face of the grandfather clock says nothing.

It watches as the chandelier gathers dust
And the china begins to chip.
It gives a tired sigh as its hands struggle to point to 6pm:
Supper time.
All is quiet.

A child stands in front of the clock
Staring into its face.
The clock stares back,
both wondering how time escaped them so quickly.