A CREATOR'S CREATOR

Amidst the dark oval of the center
Of the town along the bay,
Sat, lonesomely, the ragged man
For whom the birds flow,
And in turn the clocks swayed.
Alone, holding loosely from breast,
Did this man of old age
Slump over and grasp onto
His only friend from the past.

As he wondered, he muttered,
And a question arose.
"May I lie down at long last,
My old friend, is it time?" and
With that his mouth came to a close.
Since the man heard no answer,
As he had always, before,
He placed Time in his pocket,
To sit alone in a shadow
In the town by the shore.

Soon, though, He left,
And soon time began,
Though the voice in his pocket
Kept Him to his plan.