Classic Poem

A clock is a pitiless, stoical thing,
Placidly ticking from sun to sun;
Beggar and minstrel, clown and king,
Flourish and vanish, one by one.

Yet the pendulum swings, the hours chime,
The minute comes and the minute goes,
For it's all the same to the face of Time,
To-morrow frost or to-day a rose!