Which leads to a gloomy corridor that
hasn’t seen a duster for many a long day.
At the end I open a heavy, green door,
To reveal a magical time warp with
many surprises in store.
Literally, time is everywhere, clocks
both large and small,
Ticking and chiming in confusing
unison, adorning every wall.
Watches on shelves, plain silver and
gold,
Different faces telling time both new
and old.
A solitary spotlight creates a warm
glow
Over the watchmaker as at his bench
he bends low.
A regular flow of customers call with
timepieces that won’t work
He takes all in his stride, none will
he shirk.
His skill and expertise shines
through in every way,
As he works to meet these challenges
every day.
Let’s hope the shrinking number of
watchmakers keep this tradition alive,
So that through the generations it
will survive.
1 comment:
Such a beautiful piece of writing. I grew up surrounded by clocks of every style, age and size; my father loved clocks and would pick them up at the saleroom for not much cost. I think I have inherited his passion. They can be be aesthetically pleasing, adorning a room and above all, practical
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