The clock that couldn't

My clock sits on a bookshelf--next to a print depicting a Chinese spring scene that I picked up cheaply in Shanghai.

The juxtaposition is charming; a jigsawed cutout of mishigamaa neighboring the crisp green still.

In a tragic twist of fate, the newly minted timepiece struggles at each second to capture past time.

The torque gods are cruel.  Each second a battle against gravity.

My heart goes out to the hand that barely reaches New Holland,
                                                          fails to mount Founders
                                                     and falls back to Saugatuck.

Soon, a precious 16 hours will be lost forever to the ravages of forgotten time, unrecorded.