Clock-a-Clay
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n the cowslip pips I lie,Hidden from the buzzing fly,While green grass beneath me lies,Pearled with dew like fishes' eyes,Here I lie, a clock-a-clay,Waiting for the time of day. While the forest quakes surprise,And the wild wind sobs and sighs,My home rocks as like to fall,On its pillar green and tall;When the pattering rain drives byClock-a-clay keeps warm and dry. Day by day and night by night,All the week I hide from sigh;In the cowslip pips I lie,In rain and dew still warm and dry;Day and night, and night and day,Red, black-spotted clock-a-clay. My home shakes in wind and showers,Pale green pillar topped with flowers,Bending at the wild wind's breath,Till I touch the grass beneath;Here I live, lone clock-a-clay,Watching for the time of day.
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