The old clock

I live with her now
My sound deep
Bangs every hour
Telling her grab
Your second now
Not when you are gone
Another will wind
Me up and I obey
Just like when
Your father bought
Me in the antique store
And took me from
My birth town London.
I remember when
I first became alive
Vividly wound up
By my eager maker
1819 so I am actually
Two hundred years old
during which time
I have served you
and your family keeping
the hours and half hours.
I know that for a time
I cracked up -
the repair watch man
took away my half time
chime  - sadly for you
and surely for me.
I know I had company
when I was at your father's
he had at least two others
in the dining room
yet you picked me.
I was the simplest
and you always told
everyone why- my sound
on the hour.....Bong
Bong... Bong...bong
Ere your father
I was for four years
quiet in an antique store
and hidden during
the war years in a loft
at the beautiful manor
in the country in Derbyshire
Also there I kept time
in the dining room.
The olde master of the house
had inherited me
fair and square from his mum
who had brought it with her
from Suffolk as her gift
to her new husband.
Back in the eighteen hundreds
I was placed on a gilded
mantelpiece in a sitting room
So much goings on
Between the lords ladies
Their children and grandchildren
They took  me for granted
And their servants wound me
Up as it was their duty
Only once I truly loved
The slender careful hands
Of a young man’s attention
But he died too soon
I heard from the parlor maids’
Gossiping about him
He was popular with her ladyship
So one morning in October
When the hunt was on
He apparently got accidentally
Shot - the rumors that I heard
His lordship had perhaps
Not aimed at the waterfowl
But at this gentle finger servant
Long time two hundred years
As long as I am well kept
And oiled I shall chime
Bong bong bong