O Palmerston North Hopwood Clock Tower
you have a new hat on
For fifty years you stood bareheaded, upright,
impervious to weather
You smiled down upon groups
of children, marching bands, civic dignitaries
once, the Queen came
You are a strange phallic finger
pointing towards the sky
At night, your light shines forth
a good deed in a naughty world
They have given you
another car park
to look at
Sometimes, I think you wear
a crown of thorns
In the early morning, when no-one
is looking, you droop a little
You are out of all proportion
O Palmerston North Hopwood Clock Tower
What is to be done with you!
Carol Markwell
