Why a Clock

It is understood by all who walk by that it moves -
Somehow?
Although, it never leaves its place on the ivory tower
And it is said that it has a face that reads!
However, it knows not how rhyme works in time…

Shamefully, someone stole its one hand - probably the church mouse
Looking for a second meal as the day was getting late.

How does it portray numbers yet, it can only account for twelve not twenty-four?
Unless of course, the bells sing out the call – “it is the middle now!”
And only then, can the heavens explain – which side falls on the black or the light.

So, who knows who moved; or why the numbers are scattered around?
How is it- that 12 is at 3 and 3 at 5 and now, 9 is at one – it’s so crazy!
Oh my, what is to be done!

A second becomes a minute and a minute becomes an hour
And too soon, those hours, become days that turn into many calendars
Like buckets, some may bring cheers while others – carry a date with tears.

My! what happened to my face it looks so old now
And memory has forgotten what time is -
While my heart so much wants to linger there
When the clock still ran young
And the future – was a thing –
To long for and wait.