THREE A. M.
by WALT KLEIN
The clocks are all awry
this hour of the secret
night—the slender hands
all aimless; the terrible, slender
hands all fingering
a different cipher, and the stars
all reeling in their orbits.
O time! time! time!
Time and death have vanished
this enchanted moment, forgotten,
lost in the endless
corridors of mind. But who—
who will know tomorrow
of this moment fleeing, lost?
Wailing, wailing, wailing....
The pendulum, rasping, drops,
the door springs open,
and a tinny voice shrieks:
"Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!"