No Beating the Clock
I was an ambitious fine watchmaker, looking forward to sunshine tomorrows,
Like the remote edge of a fuchsia horizon, where gather racy, blue swallows.
I worked on clocks of all styles and sizes, repairing both old and the modern,
As spring beds each year boast old styles, and new ones, in fields untrodden.
I loved useful work that challenged me, requiring masterly skill and precision,
As autumn is challenged to create beauty, keeping up summer's fading vision.
Friends and I went to fetes together, in feathered and beribboned fascinators,
As crystal stars stand together in sparkles, to become bigger drama creators!
Fanciful family roamed among scarlet roses, along sunshiny paths of welcome,
Like the golden further side of rouge sunset, or cherry Mars, seen but seldom.
I lived in the house of inscrutable mystery, where trees sheltered a hideaway,
Like aged, fleeting years sheltered in memory, lest they should all slide away.
Glossy starlings sang sassy summer, in jade spruces and shrubs on my street,
Like a trumpeting of many elephants, when upon green savannahs they meet.
Nimble neighbors raced satiny sunset, beating a floral path to my front door,
Just to laugh and engage in small talk, as we'd done a thousand times before.
Summer sun soaked hills and valleys, when a full moon trailed glossy ribbons,
Like a pretty fortune in fruitful riches, to satisfy day and nighttime ambitions.
Purple hydrangeas graced shady gardens, and redbirds sang on window sills,
And pink clouds touched red mountaintops, in the hour of peach, dawn thrills.
Because I hated to ever be late, I overcompensated by being often too early.
Friends teased, calling me, 'Miss Punctual,' as stars wink in moonlight pearly.
On a rare day, while at a clock shop, to purchase a fancy clock for my home,
I was gaily loving my browsing, as dark zones enjoy noon, when stars roam.
The people present suddenly disappeared, as a vague blur went by my eyes,
Only to reduce its speed to slow motion, like clockwork moments, so precise!
Was I imagining facts, or could it truly be him, wearing his varied timepieces?
Yes, it was Father Time, standing still, paused amid the world's long speeches.
'Why are you in such a rush,' he said, 'when I can't ever be outrun by people?
For once I've passed, there's no retrieval, as that'd cause too much upheaval.'
'Various deadlines and commitments are critical, but slow down and enjoy life,
For it's the joyous, relaxed moments, that give precious meaning to the strife!
Copyright ©
Evelyn Judy Buehler
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