There lives a cuckoo bird
above my head in a clock tower,
He bursts forth from the face of time
emerging at a certain hour.
He always brings a message to me
quite difficult to understand,
Rising like clockwork each September
appearing to lend two hands.
The bird stays with me during those times
before returning to his abode,
On departure he leaves another
broken message for me to decode.
It seems each Spring
he runs the gauntlet at an incredible pace,
Leaving me stranded
with a bewildered look upon my face.
I want him to slow
but he only has one speed,
So I must trail behind searching
for his mark and where he bleeds.
©bennydaly
B