This clock of ours
is hidden under ice,
its hands frozen at 2.45.
We can hack away at the surface
to get to him, but he might never
work again.
Can you remember how he got there?
Someone must have lost track of time
and dropped him down.
We can see its large black face
blurry from where we stand on
fragile sheets of aqua ice.
Maybe when it melts we can save him,
move the hands to the right time
but by the time we've done that
it'll be the wrong time again,
our hands will have to keep moving
the hands of time
and the clock won't like that,
we'll be taking over its job.
He'll become angry and make time
go faster until we realise
it's all gone.
Written: March 2012.
Explanation: Another poem written in my own time.