Where is our new clock?

What time is it?

Is it six cuckoos? seven cuckoos?

Eight cuckoos? or nine cuckoos?

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No it’s not

Time’s the mother of them all

She could have been long and slender

Having grayish-brown on top

With a white bottom

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I call her my cuckoo

After the cuckoo bird

That I love so much

For every hour on the hour

She sounds off for me

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By her call

She thrills me

Through the thin walls

Of my old wooden home

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This sound makes my face

Beam with delight

That in the beginning

Might have caused

Just a little fright

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She’s sometimes motionless

That cuckoo clock I mounted

On our wall

Which my wife bought us

Last Fall

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Image via Wikipedia

Image via Wikipedia

It calls, “Cuckoo

Cuckoo,” every hour on the hour

And this like a bird is amazing

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