I love an old pocket watch
Hanging at the end of its chain
To look upon its beauty
And to hear the ticking of its spring

To see through its cracked crystal
The beauty of the hands
As they slowly count the moments away
One by one as grains of sand

Painted upon an enamel face
I see the hours that are marked
The hours of ones life
Painted as a work of art

Whose eyes have looked upon you
By whose hands have you been wound
Who brought you to their ear
To hear your beautiful sound

O how I love the music played
So sweet is the watches tick and tock
There is a mystery that I love
In an old pocket watch