2:49

Shakespearean sonnet of a clock whose hands are stuck at 2:49. Iambic pentameter!

Stagnant, they hang in cold, they dangle high
Up glance a few, and long for elapse yet,
None such avail, thou hast remain unmoved
Thy stillness, I muse, I ponder, thoughtful;
For O! What glory thou might yet behold
If only we were else except this place
For frozen sands of hourglass, cased and trapped
I’st thou not for which longingly we crave?
The docile calm of lasting same, such bliss!
Devoid of biting wrath, the hands of change
Thou dost own them, above escape (our hope)
With change’s absence, thou hast donneth not
         Not insight, nor thy wisdom; knowledge feigned
         For if one shan’t be stagnant, can’t remain