A watch, like us, only cares for face; ignorant of the cog.
Radiant, it waits for time to recognize it thru the fog.
Complications pick apart the serenity of the face.
They grind away, to each nose a stone, unwittingly apace.
Neither knows about the key the owner has wound, winds & will.
Both apathetic past their toil; unaware they need his drill.
The hands that tick away the days are whiskers of Father Time.
Each hair felled from Chronos’s jowl by the second’s edgy climb.
Nights & days will play their game leapfrogging regardless of clocks.
A watch just grants a sense of control that calms the mortal flocks.
L.B.Stowe 