Anxious Hands

Out in the distance pale mountains are looming
The ghosts of my present now fading to past
The lake gleams and shimmers, its cold waters moving
I carve this to memory and will it to last

The horlogier etches a still-ticking clock
Scratching its surface with aged, agile hands
Until he is finished the hands cannot stop
Marking my time left in soon-parted lands

Grain by grain tick by tock
Time carries on
The one hope I have is in memories drawn
And though these hands shake
They still show me the time
The minutes I spent here
And seconds sublime