The brooding cuckoo clock 

Can't stop.

He ticks off worries

With every tock,

But always another has come around

To keep his chin down

Beneath his frown.

His eyes never stray from the cluttered ground

And all the man made trouble he's found.

But man made him too, afterall,

So why would he look to the open sky

Where birds fly so trouble free?

And why is he looking now at me

With that look in his eye?

The gods made me afterall!

And I've never eaten an apple

From the tree they told me

Not to eat apples from.

So cast your eye some other way, Cuckoo,

And chirp your solemn bell

For some other lily

That's dressed so well,

Or some other sparrow that's fallen,

And tick me off some other day,

When I know what sin it is I've committed.

Maybe tomorrow,

Or the the next day following?

-jenn