The Clockmaster's Garden

THE CLOCKMAKER'S GARDEN by Silvio Vinci Behind the walls of yesterday, A clockmaker had lost his way. He planted hours beneath the trees, And hung his minutes on the breeze. The silver birds refused to sing, The winter wore the crown of spring. And every flower, pale and blue, Remembered things it never knew. He turned the hands against the sun, And counted dreams instead of one. A thousand bells began to chime, But none of them could tell the time. Oh, let the garden grow, Where all the rivers cease to flow. Beyond the golden afternoon, Beneath a paper moon. "Who winds the stars? Who paints the rain? Who brings the vanished years again?" No answer came. The garden slept. And all the clocks Forgot their steps. At dawn he laid his tools aside, And watched the morning open wide. The roses turned towards the light, And time walked softly out of sight. Oh, let the garden grow, Where only silent waters flow. Beyond the golden afternoon, Beneath a paper moon.