Twist

A slender man ignores the damp,
That permeates an upper room,
With not but an old oil lamp
To keep at bay the London gloom

His fixed intent and form are bent
Upon the timepiece in his hand.
Small tools he plies to this device
With more than skill at his command.

Soon comes a sigh to signify
That his repairs are now complete
He notes the face but not the time
And takes another sip of tea.