A clock has one large hand,
and another rather little one;
a head where his mind may tick,
and a brain so that he knows
when to click.
He counts down the days
until they run out.
A clock records his story,
so that life is no more
a mystery.
He grows old,
whilst others live,
and then die.
He weeps at the
thought of death,
and sometimes,
he may even mourn.
Passionate, though,
the clock truly is.
He regretfully ticks away
all that is and ever was,
because, this clock
knows something
that we do not.
A lifetime goes by,
and the clock lives on,
whilst all else is destined
to have faded away.
The clock still remains,
as he may only turn
to the next page of
a brand new day.
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