The Clockmaker’s Son

The Clockmaker’s Son

He built small worlds from gears and glass,

Each tick a song, each chime a prayer,

He said that time was made of love,

And every moment lived was fair.

His father died before he grew,

But left a watch of silver gleam,

Inside it beat a steady sound,

That seemed to echo through his dream.

He took it apart one winter night,

To learn what made it hum and shine,

And found within a folded note,

That said, “My boy, you’ll shape your time.”

He wound it up, it sang once more,

A simple tune, a father’s call,

And in that song he found his peace,

That love can still outlast it all.

Now every clock he makes will sing,

Not just of hours, but of care,

For though his hands grow worn and slow,

His heart still keeps his father there.