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The Cuckoo Clock
Along a sunless wall
Rests a cottage, a rosy wonder to all
On the front porch lie logs of wood
And below a fair maiden sits on a swing
For when the minutes fatefully align,
The entire lodging begins to chime
And as the bluebirds atop resound,
Our fair maiden sways in rhyme!
Yet once the moment is finally done,
Once the minute has passed once more,
The joyous chirp from the lovely house
Has been silenced to a tick
And with the next tock, the maiden is still,
As she possesses none of her own free will,
While she is condemned to a lifeless litany
Chained to the seconds, minutes, and hours
That shall never set her free
Once the years have trotted by their timely staccato
Our maiden lies weary, for her color begins to fade
But after she is dappled with a coat of paint,
The cogs at the heart of her quaint chateau
Die a bitter red.
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