The Clock

Every tick and every tock

That comes from my old clock,

Keeps time to Molly’s step;

And when it cries “Cuckoo,”

Her hand should knock below.

Unless- for now I see

The clock looks down at me

With a white and silent face;

It stops, and not one beat

Keeps time to Molly’s feet.

Then, staring at that clock,

Whose every tick and every tock

Should be one step of hers,

“Why have you stopped,” I said-

“Has Molly dropped down dead?”