Clocks dutifully mark the passage of time,
For this vital purpose explicitly designed.
Some hang on the wall, speak nothing at all.
Others when prompted; gleefully chime.
Oddly, we’ve doled out anatomical parts;
faces and hands, but no features.
Why not a pulse from the beat of a heart,
to assist such monotonous creatures.
Repetitive work for such tedious beast,
Rhythmically tracking our lives.
Staring at night, when I turn out the light,
And steadfastly there when I rise.
Where would we be devoid dependable ticks,
to synchronize all that they do?
I shudder to think, we’d be on the brink
of the last of our orderly days.