The Clockmaker’s Daughter

**The Clockmaker’s Daughter**

The clockmaker’s daughter, quiet and still,

Sat by the window, watching with will.

Her father’s hands, precise and true,

Shaped the hours, as minutes flew.

Tick by tick, the clocks would chime,

Marking moments, crafting time.

In every gear and turning wheel,

His legacy of care and skill.

She learned the craft with patient grace,

Fingers guiding time’s own pace.

Each cog she touched, each hand she placed,

A whispered memory, a fleeting trace.

But time, it moves, both slow and fast,

And moments never seem to last.

Yet in the ticking, she would find,

A piece of him, still left behind.

The clockmaker’s daughter now stands tall,

Keeping time within the hall.

With every chime, his life she weaves,

For in the clocks, his heart still beats.