A Rattling Rhyme
The Clockmaker
The old clockmaker sat at his bench
In the shop where he'd lived all his years
With a monocle lens on his eye
And his desk filled with sprockets and gears.
Everything had its place in a drawer.
Every drawer labeled proper and neat.
Only sound to be heard was the clocks
As they ticked out a monotone beat.
Of the hundreds of clocks there for sale
Each with spaces on walls or on shelves
Not a one of them told the wrong time
And they all said one minute till twelve
The dark moment he'd feared had arrived
And the clockmaker's face gave a wince
As each clock confirmed midnight had come
And that now Daylight Savings begins
8.17.18
Contest: A Rattling Rhyme
Copyright © Jesse Rowe | Year Posted 2018
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