Clockwork Girl

In cogs and gears, her heart does beat, A clockwork girl, both strange and sweet. Her eyes, like polished brass, aglow, Reflect the time, the world below. With gears that click and springs that chime, She measures moments, day and time. A copper bodice, sleek and tight, Holds secrets in the fading light. Her hands, of bronze, a delicate dance, Point to the hours, a fleeting glance. A winding key, a silver thread, Keeps her ticking, unsaid, unled. Amidst the steam and smoke-filled air, A whisper of her presence, rare. The city's pulse, she knows it well, Her clockwork heart, a silent spell. But in her gaze, a sadness hides, A yearning for the world outside. To feel the warmth, the human touch, Beyond the gears, beyond the clutch. For though she runs, on time's own whim, A part of her, forever dim, Yearns for a soul, a beating heart, To break free, from the clockwork art.