Word's of new.

I would not ask if words elude, but time is time, and they pertrude 
Like the mechanics of an olden clock, they may chime but always tock,
It ticks on at any stage,  the winding up and turning page,

We tender to it's every need, sometimes hault and then proceed, we neither cease nor rectify, or stop It's going on and by, But know it well enough to say i'm fortunate another day,

We claim it's value,  and cuss at times
But still it moves, and still it chimes
To mark the seconds,  or minutes ,hour's 
She groves the cities and the tower's 
A dile or a hand She holds,  As all events of life unfold, rickety may be the sound of all the pins, going around and around 

The cognition of an endless theme 
The beauty of time, and time to dream
But the timming of words then to express,  some of eloquence,  and finesse,  some of importance and others for fun,  but time is the essential,  where word's begun, 

before it was lessening,  and all but one, and we used the light and watched the sun, though time has changed and language too, We speak together words of new.