A tireless guardian of her fleeting days Wandering though the morning dew and rainy days and the nighttime, to be rising anew to announce something interesting, or uninteresting too at 12, the bird sings whether rising, or sleeping to inform its lady, that the new hour has come, she shouldn't be weeping A quiet pendulum, to go back and forth with hands of rose gold, and a steady pace no panic, no rush, not a frantic chime it measures morning, dusk, and the endless night moving with the flow of time It marks its seconds with grace Never wrong Unless you try to fix it and the time isn't so precise anymore
