In the night, the only light was that of the hearth,
Grounding to earth like there was no time.
But there, on the wall, in emerald green
Stood a ticking, buzzing — restless clock;
Its arms grasping and its gearwheels in motion
To prove to itself that it was living a life.

To an empty room it spoke of life,
And the only thing alive to tell the story — was the hearth,
Which rippled in the center like a cocoon of motion
Standing the test of time.
What envy to witness that as an orating clock,
Who, in labour, tarnished itself from copper into green!

To that, "Vigour and envy both are green,
And suffering is a testament to life!
Work and prayer are the boulder for this old clock,
So that the only worry for the hearth
Could be to laugh at my aging face...