FOR WHOM THE CUCKOO COOS!



 
Cuckoo!  Cuckoo!  Cuckoo!
The cuckoo clock struck Three,
A perky, little, yellow bird,
Cooed out happily.
 
His tiny head bobbed up and down,
As he announced the time,
He cooed each hour on the hour,
Just as he'd been designed.
 
He lived in a house upon a wall
Where he felt especially blest,
He had a home of his very own,
His private residence.
 
Not many other, little birds,
Could strut their stuff and say,
"Look at me, high on this wall,
I have my own chalet."
 
Proudly he perched on its porch and watched,
The people down below,
Whose silly behavior gave to him,
A never ending show
 
And though they liked their privacy
They never once gave him a thought,
And everything they did or said,
By this peeking bird was caught.
 
He was most perceptive,
And was frequently amused,
How seriously folks took themselves
No wonder he cuckooed.
 
For instance, when young lovers
Sat below him on the couch,
Holding hands and sighing deeply,
His cuckoos might ring out.
 
And if they heard the cuckoo's coos,
The young lovers might break into giggles,
Their kisses thwarted, their hugs aborted,
Their lovin' cut short in the middle,
 
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


Home Index Page

Humorous Index