Stained glass

My hands work
The clock ticks away
Hours and days seem to pass
As I work through the stained glass

My hands ache
The clock ticks away
Every detail is just right
From the dancing beams of light

My hands slip
The clock stops
Everything was so perfect
But what are left are shards of clear glass

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It's more of an interperative style i guess.... but there's a story to it if you can find it.