The poem reads:

When I was a little lad, my old grandfather said That none should
wind the clock, but he, and so at time for bed
Hed fumble for the curious key kept high upon the shelf
And set aside that little task entirely for himself.

In time grandfather passed away and so that duty fell Unto my
father who performed the weekly custom well;
He held that clocks were not to be by careless persons wound
And he alone should turn the key or move the hands around.

I envied him that little task and wished that I might be the one to
be entrusted with the turning of the key. But year by year the clock
was his exclusive bit of care Until the day the angels came and
smoothed his silver hair.

Today the task is mine to do, like those whove gone before,
I am a jealous guardian of that round and glassing door. And until
at my chamber door Gods messenger shall knock
To me alone shall be reserved the right to wind the clock.

this little poem gives me a lot of emotion! This story was worth a scrap!