What is a Clock?

A cold hard heart
And a blank white face
And two black gloved hands
That are running a race.

Black little marks
for eyes, mouth, ears
And a quiet little ticking
coming from gears.

As the seconds rush by,
As the minutes keep rolling,
From deep, deep inside
Comes a brass bell tolling.

The face does shake
And the hands do rock
As the gears do rattle
And the bell does talk.

The hands race the hour,
Spinning the days,
And as time moves on,
The hands part ways.

The glass does clatter
From its tick, tick, tock,
Of the gears deep inside,
The black gloved clock.

Emily Malpass
Age 12, Grade 7
Writopia Lab
Gold Key

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