It does nothing but tick
And tock non-stop.
The hands turn and snap
Every minute into place.
They creak and strain
Like a beggar under his sack,
Dragging his life around
In a towel slung over his shoulder.
Nobody pays constant attention,
Not one person watches the clock
For the entirety of its life,
But it does not slack
Or break while we are not looking.
It toils on, all day
And all night.
And we never give it thanks.
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