Mastery of an Hour

A measure of tender footsteps echo down the hallway in a rosy whisper,

and soon a darling shadow dances to announce the arrival of a clever little girl.

She softly hums a merry aria that beckons the one she calls ‘grandfather’,

knowing that the orange dawn is her sundial that declares him to be right on time.

A deity in image of a swell old man emerges at once from the realm of the clock,

a tall and enchanted antique that ticks the nostalgic melody of a divine lullaby.

The mysterious house had always harmonized to the carol of the ticking lullaby,

each scholarly secret shrouded in coatings of mischief and whispers,

all stemming from the long hallway that cradled the charmed wooden clock.

The most curious of all creatures and mortals was the beloved young girl,

who had wished upon fiery comets and constellations for sorcery in the keeping of time.

The being she learned such wizardry from was the one she adopted as a ‘grandfather.’

The ageless deity had appeared one early daybreak in shape of a grandfather,

Striking the twinkling chorus of sunrise to play his hourglass lullaby,

asking the Promethean child if she too wanted to harness the creation of time.

He then met the child’s eyes and offered such magical lessons with a lively whisper.

Waves of oceanic glee and eager yearning had then washed over the spirited girl,

who now stands in the hallway across from the deity and the composing clock.

The deity impishly grins and beckons the child to him in front of the signature clock.

She dashes to the antique and places a candy in the palm of her immortal ‘grandfather’,

her longing for expertise and mastery of meter being nearly cosmic for such a small girl.

The deity’s gratitude at her kind offering is what conjures his spell of soothing lullabies,

and he sings to the child in a hypnotic drumbeat no louder than a serene whisper.

He promises her that she will learn how to ring the golden bell that can craft time.

The child closes her eyes to find herself floating within the numbered cobweb of time,

made up of elegant gears and strings that clicked its tempo like a beating heart clock.

The deity holds the prestigious bell and guides her with an enlightened whisper,

his smile full of gratitude that such a metronomical mortal calls him ‘grandfather’.

When the astonished child asks how her soul rebirthed here after his cadent lullaby,

the sagacious deity reminds her that she is both a peculiar and blessed little girl.

The ethereal deity tells the tale of how he first grew to trust the percussive girl,

a lively student that could learn the secrets and ring the golden bell of time,

and embarks on teaching the child the infinite notes of his steady lullaby.

The child finally learns the craft of the chronologic until she wakes to her hallway clock.

She tells her family of the divining lessons learned from one she calls ‘grandfather,’

to which her mother bafflingly laughs and doubts such vivid dreams with a silly whisper.

While her family thinks dreams are foolishly molded from old clocks and luring lullabies,

they’ll never know that their little girl rings a golden bell that writes the measure of time.

Perhaps they could too if only they listened to the whispers of the ‘grandfather’.