You see the children rushing out the door.
Soon, for now, you know they'll be no more.
You want to hug each one for forever and a week.
But there is no stopping this constant leak
From your home, soon to be an empty house:
You'd kill to hear even that heard but unseen mouse.
But no, all you hear is the tick of the tocking clock.
The only thing your echoed body's got.
It grows, its beats drive you into the ground
Where at the last there is not even sound.