I am a clock without a face,
my numerals have been erased,
my sweeping hands have been displaced;
still
I am a clock.
Time's elusive, out of view,
I cannot display to you,
what my quartz components do;
still,
I am a clock.
You can't strip identity,
dub me a non-entity,
I've had pieces stripped from me;
still,
I am a clock.
You are not your chiseled chin,
nor your alabaster skin,
what you are is what's within,
best
if you take stock.
You too will have change of face,
shifting images to trace,
time will alter ev'ry face-
passing years may shock.
I
remain
a clock.
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