The turning of the wheel.
Poem on wall clock.
It all will be revealed.
But the clocks always bicker.
At five o clock precisely he hammers at my door and breaks in forty pieces my most delightful snore.
Desiderata poem poesy verse poetry quote white square wall clock.
Shadows come and go trees like scarecrows stand.
An ongoing quest as they try to decide whose assembly is best.
As summer turns to snow living flesh has turned to sand.
This little dumpy sergeant so prompt and so precise he calls me once with vigor but he never calls me twice.
The ticking of the clock.
Lord twister the first fine collector of clocks has a room laid aside for his ticks and his tocks.
It all will come to pass.
Echoes from the past.
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