A Mother's Time

Such a wealth of timepieces we command    
all accurate down to the Nth degree,  
some on wrist and some clutched in hopeful hands  
but it's the same rigid time that we see.  
   
I like the tick-tock of my wind-up clock  
with its stylised Arabic numbers,  
my brass and tin time machine takes me back    
to when luminous hands watched my slumbers.  
   
I didn't need clocks, of course, what kid did,  
Ma's magic would tell the passing hours,  
" Time for school!" " Lunch time!" and " It's time for bed..."  
It's part of a mother's superpowers.    
   
Ma's bed-time holler still rings loud and clear  
" And don't forget to wash behind your ears."