The Watchmakers Shop

A street in our town

Has a queer little shop
With tumble-down walls
And a thatch on the top;
And all the wee windows
With crookedy panes
Are shining and winking
With watches and chains.

(All sorts and all sizes
In silver and gold,
And brass ones and tin ones
And the new ones and old;
And clocks for the kitchen
And clocks for the hall,
High ones and low ones
And wag-at-the-wall.)

The watchmaker sits
On a long-leggèd seat
And bids you the time
Of the day when you meet;
And round and about him
There's ticketty-tock
From the tiniest watch
To the grandfather clock.

I wonder he doesn't
Get tired of the chime
And all the clocks ticking
And telling the time;
But there he goes winding
Lest any should stop,
This queer little man
In the watchmaker's shop.

by Anonymous
Art ANTON PIECK