I am smooth and curvaceous: cold to touch
Hard, very hard
I am old and can be heard at dawn and at night

I long to be taken down to rest
I am shaped like a flower with its stamens of stalk and anther
But do not smell so sweet
My body sweeps down like a long evening dress

What joy and sorrow can be heard
When I roll back and forth
I clamour and clang and turn the human heart to stone
To moan and groan that sorrow of a departed soul

I have swung on the end of a rope for centuries
Born in an iron foundry that has long since gone
My view is spectacular but I cannot see or hear
I can only sound out to mankind the passing of time