Our Broken Clock

The mantle holds our broken clock,
Which never time can tell,
The black frame is chipped and cracked,
Where upon the poor thing fell.

The seconds hand has broken off,
The minutes stuck at twelve,
The hour hand screams six ‘o’ clock,
So into that time we delve.

A dancing dog and beauty girl,
Step three/four time on wood,
With dogs paws not meant for such,
Why did they think they should?

For joy! For fun! For frolicking!
For passing time till tea,
This made them both rush faster,
Till they crashed in to me!

Fighting against my wavered hold,
On balance to stand up,
A losing battle in the end,
I knocked against a cup.

This cup, in turn, did teeter tot,
Upon the mantle high,
It tipped over in to our clock,
And caused the clock to fly.

So the mantle holds that poor clock,
Which never time can tell,
It’s broken frame ne’er the same,
After the height it fell.

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