Tick-tock, tick-tock, a wooden hand,
It marks the seconds, commands the sand,
A pulse of time, precise and clear,
A clockwork heart that all can hear.
It counts the spaces, lines the bars,
A pendulum beneath the stars,
In every beat, a silent vow,
To keep the pace, to teach the now.
Tick-tock, tick-tock, it sways with grace,
An endless dance, a measured pace,
For every note it calls, it guides,
Through steady tempos, smooth as tides.
It holds the song within its hold,
From nimble youth to notes grown old,
A guardian of rhythm’s sway,
The metronome, both night and day.
Tick-tock, tick-tock, it hums alone,
A quiet guide, carved out of stone,
And though it stands without a sound,
It moves us all, the world around.
Apple Beth