Once a time, clocks would tick,
Like any decent metaphor –
Slicing up the passing time,
And tolling out their hourly chime.
Pocket watches, chirping quick,
Grandfathers, slow and sure,
Tick-tock, clip-clop, out they’d trot,
When seconds were a noisy lot.
Yet now, they’re silent and they’re slick,
Just oozing seconds from their store –
But still they serve to spread the word
How time is slipping past, unheard.