The Clockmaker
Hands are moving,
Interlocked as gears.
Waving as they count
our days
our months
our years
These hands did not make the time,
But merely point beyond.
Half past
this cage of reason
Half past
the sun at dawn.
Each face tells the ceaseless story:
A maker, immutable but kind
You would find his
Quite like yours
If you'd take
the time.
Do not worry about that clock
Only where it leads
Time is wasted
flies away
The maker never wanes.
