Thursday, December 22, 2011

Clocks and Feathers

For too long the clock was still
Hands frozen on frozen face
The chill of the cool metal
The silence of the pendulum
Encased in glass, and iron, and velvet and dust
The long empty silent clock stood
Untouched, unmoved, unwound

But then the small bird flew in
Iron black and as soft as night music
And settled itself on the ledge
And there it built its small nest
While the winter howled outside
The roar of snow was defening
The silence of the clock more so
And in quiet, dreamy slumber sleeping
The clock and the bird slept till spring

The promise of things to come
That springs will wind again
That ticks will once more echo
And that together they shall learn
How to tell time once again

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