Clepsydra Runs Dry

Clepsydra winds down
Drops drip, into the wet
channel
A hum, a vibration felt,
through the airwaves

Stroke,  each down stroke
another drop,  of liquid.
Hard marble pillars,  
Immovable.
 
Columbine winds herself,
around solid footing
Shades of pink,  with hues
of darkened mauve,
 it's gates
 open
 to one visitor

He arrives early,  soft
cloth hanging,  from his
belt
He stoops low
 between strong legs  
polishing
 each jewel
 before moving on

Tapping  lightly,  on the
 resevoir for the sound
of hot  fluid

His movement,
 so smooth
Caretaker of ancient
Clepsydra
Keeps her wound tight
Ensures her longevity