Tick, Tock
He is covered in mud
For so long, dark brown
The years have left him
Cold to the touch

Click, click
Tasting of dust and
The bark of birch
Gears in his mind
Constantly shifting

Tick, Tock
His tapping heartbeat
Breathing sequentially
Chorus of bells
It's his job

Ding, ****
There goes my grandfather clock