The Soul Without Hours

In ancient quiet, a clock does stand,
With no pointers, time cannot command.
A timeless breath, unseen within the land,
In wood’s deep core, free from hurry or demand.
It marks no moment, nor the rising of the day,
But hears the echoes of ages, profound and stately.
A silent guardian of all history and natal,
Sees the world transform, with wisdom ever palatial.
It counts no joy, nor any tear that falls so deep,
It is the endless rhythm of a promise it must keep.
A boundless spirit, a quiet peace for us to steep,
Its thousand-year sigh, where all futures fall asleep.