He sits on the mantelpiece all fat and round
striking on the hour to a chiming sound.
With roman numerals and an antiquated face
ticking all day long at the same natural pace.
Striking at midnight to tell you a new day has begun;
then again every hour till the day is done.
It has a door at the back that's not very wide;
where a pendulum swings from side to side.
All it's works are packed neatly away,
so it can give you the right time of day.
It has a glass door that proctects it's face;
all packed up in a nice mahogany case.
It has a shine on it's woodwork that gleams like glass
and four little feet made of solid brass.
This conscientious clock will work all week long;
Providing it's wound up and doesn't go wrong
It has never been mended or had a spare part
and we have never had to shake it, to make it start.
This old clock, I knew was worth a mention
because it's sixty years old and time to draw a pension.
sylvia spencer
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-conscientious-clock/
