The Clockmaker’s Love Letter

The Clockmaker’s Love Letter

In the quiet of his workshop, where the ticking fills the air,

The clockmaker bends his steady hands to craft with tender care.

Each gear and spring, a word unsaid, each pendulum a sigh,

A love he keeps in cogs and wheels, beneath the passing sky.

He winds the hands with gentle touch, their dance a measured rhyme,

A testament to moments lost, and those yet to unwind.

For time, he knows, is fleeting, yet within his heart it stays,

A love that ticks in silent beats, through nights and endless days.

The clock face gleams, a silver moon, its numbers etched in gold,

A mirror to the hours spent, and stories left untold.

He writes his love in ticking sounds, in chimes that softly ring,

A language only hearts can hear, where whispers softly sing.

“My dearest,” says the letter, though no ink has touched the page,

“I’ve built for you a lifetime, in this clock’s eternal cage.

Each second is a heartbeat, each minute is a vow,

And every hour, a promise, to keep my love somehow.”

The pendulum swings to and from, a metronome of fate,

A rhythm bound to carry on, beyond the bounds of date.

For though the hands may circle round, and years may fade away,

The clockmaker’s love endures, within the gears it stays.

So take this clock, my darling, and let its ticking be,

The echo of my steadfast heart, for all eternity.

For in its measured cadence, you’ll find my love’s refrain,

A timeless, endless melody, through joy, through loss, through pain.