His Clock (poem)
For hours and hours he stares into his clock
An agéd man with time upon his face
Each wrinkle was a memory in lace
And through it all this pillar was his rock
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So many were the stars he did ignite
A life of volumed treasures did he see
His sleep was rest from dreams which came to be
Accomplishments which wound the clock at night
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So many were the streets which now are gone
Such is the fate for man who touched so much
Each step brought opportunities to clutch
These were the seconds on his clock were drawn
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But that was in the season of the rose
When wonders were the colors scenting air
Which winds would blow away to leave him there
A hand upon a clock whose eyes now close