He asked me to marry, with top hat in hand,
“Yes,” I demurred, my mind slipping like sand.
The tics of the clocks, and the grinding of gears,
were like nails on a chalkboard raking my fears.
But before I could panic, his face broke into a grin,
while his fingers fast danced on his mandoline.
His music was lively, the sound filled the space,
and those gears and that ticking fell right into place.
Then off in the distance, a train whistle blew
and that was the moment, that I truly knew.
The natural progression of our evolution
was an adventure in time, a Steampunk Revolution.
“There are very few moments in a man’s existence when he experiences so much ludicrous distress, or meets with so little charitable commiseration, as when he is in pursuit of his own hat.”
― Charles Dickens, The Pickwick Papers