On the sands, a broken clock lies,
Its hands unmoving, under dust it cries.
Once a beacon of time's relentless flow,
Now a relic of moments long ago.
Its face cracked with age, its gears worn,
A silent witness to the hours torn.
Chiming memories of days gone by,
Now hushed, forgotten, under the sky.
Each tick a heartbeat, each tock a sigh,
In stillness it laments, beneath the sky.
Time's captive, in its metal shell,
A broken clock, its story to tell.
Yet in its silence, a quiet refrain,
A reminder that time is never in vain.
In brokenness, a beauty is found,
A clock at rest, on timeless ground.
Rodeyo
