Once prominent, an important site,
now forgotten, having lost its light,
as travelers said in their memoir,
having seen a town so rare...
The roads fork, away from trodden path,
filled with obstacles, few dare to embark,
only the curious, and adventurous folks,
chose to investigate, explore it whole.
As they entered, they encountered,
a broken gate and warning letters,
the old houses with weathered bricks,
surrounded by dense overgrown gardens.
The cobblestone road, perfect for stroll,
yet, dark streets, demanded patrols,
and when one reaches, central square,
there stood a grand clock tower.
With time stopped, mechanism lost,
they searched for learned inhabitants,
finding some, in the deserted alleys,
they seek answers, to budding questions.
Those resident declines, with puzzling look,
signal to direction, where a statue stood,
"we are drifters, he was always present,
ask your queries, when clockmaker talks"
They went to the statue placed,
where man lies, in state of neglect,
"Hello friend, are you the local,
tell us the story, of this town's fall".
The man shook, opened his eyes,
whispered words, in weary voice,
"Don't seek the history of despair,
your soul will weep, heart be scarred".
And they return, without explanations,
for, an eerie atmosphere spread...
Over the clockmaker silence.
