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Winding the Clock Poem

When I was a little lad, my old grandfather said,

That none should wind the clock but he, and so at time for bed

He'd fumble for the curious key kept high upon the shelf

And set aside that little task entirely for himself.


In time grandfather passed away and so that duty fell

Upon my father who performed the weekly custom well;

He held that clocks were not to be by careless persons wound

And he alone should turn the key or move the hands around.


I envied him that little task and wished I might be

The one to be entrusted with the turning of the key

But year by year the clock was his exclusive bit of care

Until the day the angels came and smoothed his silver hair.


Today the task is mine to do, like those who've gone before,

I am a jealous guardian of that round and glassy door.

And until my chamber door God's messenger shall knock

To me alone shall be reserved the right to wind the clock.



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