(An Apple Beth Poem)
Beneath the velvet dome of night
the ancient tower keeps its place.
Its golden hands aglow with light
still turn with calm unhurried grace.
It doesn't speak but tells the hours
in movements measured bold and blue.
It sings of sun and moon and powers
that pass above forever true.
The Lion stands proud in stone repose
its wings outstretched above the gate
recalling peace the city chose
and time's long thread through love and state.
Through battles fought and markets loud
through whispered prayers and sacred song
the clock looks down serene and proud
its rhythm deep its silence strong.
Its face endures while shadows flee
resisting dusk with steady gleam.
It whispers to the likes of me:
"You too are part of time's great dream."