The Watchmaker's Lament
Among his gears and springs precisely wound, The watchmaker heard time’s relentless sound. Each tick, each tock, each chime a pleading rhyme, That whispered of his own depleted time. He’d crafted clocks for fifty years or more, But lately heard their voices speak his doom— The pendulums like scythes across his floor, Each hour that tolled him nearer to his tomb. He prayed to halt the pendulums’…
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