At the Chime of a City Clock
At the chime of a city clock,
Lovers like pilgrims flock
To gather at my feet.
On busy streets, they pause awhile,
Scan the crossroads, turn on a smile
For one who makes their heart beat.
Eight decades chimed in quarter hours,
Minutes measured by hands and flowers,
I mark the start of many lovers’ quest.
Old and young, they come and go.
How their story ends, they do not know,
But many meetings have I blessed.
When the light of the city falls,
Reflections in the raindrops call,
To love that was, but never could be.
Stood up, stood down,
A pretty face now wears a frown.
A white dressed dream, she’ll never see
With arms aloft, ever reaching high,
I fix my gaze upon the sky,
While lovers look to me above it all.
The answer to your question’s yes.
Naked, golden, they call me Progress.
I await my chance to leap and fall… or fly