Riddonkulous

I hold no clock, yet track it all, From winter’s hush to summer’s call. I never move, yet days slip through, In ordered lines I show to you. My face will change, but I remain, A steady guide through loss and gain. I mark your plans, your hopes, your due, And quietly reset for you. I carry numbers, neat and tight, Marching forward day and night. Weeks will gather, months will fade, In tidy boxes I have made. You hang me high or keep me near, Replace my skin each passing year. Though I grow old, I’m born anew, A cycle dressed in different hue. What am I, both full and bare, A grid of time laid out with care?