Clock Meditations
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That clock is still ticking.
It sits there, its inimical face
Marks out the ambit of my years.
My night is your morning -
In deep noon, they seem as if the same;
But I am young, and growing old.
The rabbits are breeding.
The country swarms with them now, it seems;
Perfidy fills the sour land.
And you are still waiting
Like the clock, mainspring unwinding slow
Older or younger, unknowing.
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