The cuckoo clock struck
A perky, little, yellow
Cooed out happily.
His tiny head bobbed up and
As he announced the
He cooed each hour on the
Just as he'd been
He lived in a house upon a
Where he felt especially blest,
He had a home of his very
Not many other, little
Could strut their stuff and
"Look at me, high on this
I have my own chalet."
Proudly he perched on its
porch and watched,
The people down
Whose silly behavior gave to
A never ending show
And though they liked their
They never once gave him a
And everything they did or
By this peeking bird was
He was most
And was frequently
How seriously folks took
No wonder he cuckooed.
For instance, when young
Sat below him on the couch,
Holding hands and sighing
His cuckoos might ring
And if they heard the cuckoo's
The young lovers might break into
Their kisses thwarted, their
Their lovin' cut short in the
And pity the poor politician,
At the peak of his speech on TV,
The bird might pick that very time,
To cuckoo his coos with glee.
Surely that could taint the election,
If folks laughed when the cuckoo cooed,
And the speaker could face rejection,
At the chuckles the cuckoo drew.
Often when the room was still,
And the bird seemed fast asleep,
If one listened very carefully,
One could hear his wee heartbeat.
It was soft and barely audible,
One dared make no noise nor talk,
It was rhythmic and hypnotic,
With its "Tickity Tickity Tock."
Sometimes the clock itself felt bad,
It had no bells or chimes or gongs,
Yet the time of day was well-conveyed,
By the cuckoo's cuckoo song.
Reliable and dependable,
The bird minded and tended his clock,
His timing was impeccable,
He cooed precisely when he ought.
So why does the cuckoo cry on high,
And for whom does the cuckoo coo?
Perhaps for the man who needs to laugh
At himself and his bugaboos.
Virginia (Ginny) Ellis
Copyright November 2006