yoonoos peerbocus - Clock

Unmoved, move hands shaped twain
Wound in metal optic nerves,
To wisdom, beauty, love and youth
As if all heaven condensed, allied,

With stealthy minutes creep
As eternal breath itself, alive
That owns not man's dominion
Yet he owns to it his passing years.

yoonoos peerbocus

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/clock-17/