The Clock Poem by Christoph Praus
The Clock
Cycle towards the winding hands,
Held aloft to ward the light,
And in its grasp a knife appears,
Dull and pitted, scarred and feared,
So swiftly cuts the velvet night,
So deadly in the hands of man.
Saturday, February 21, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: time
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5/3/2024 1:29:48 PM # 1.0.0.1119
