Waiting for its own time
Waiting for its own time
Her well observant eyes
see a
Clock a clay,
beneath fresh green grass,
soon to settle atop,
in colors and steady wings.
No matter rocky winds
or rains falling stupendous
overtaking roofs and huts,
she stays stubborn and calm,
Clock a clay never unsettles;
Spinning day into night,
night
into day, night into day,
into its penfold, slow and watch
“Red black spotted clock a
clay”
Seemless wonder
again and again.
A loner, watcher,
all by itself
Waiting for its
time of day.
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