Who am I, a broken clock,
Who rings a bell and says tick-tock
Amidst the glorious choir sing
And silent, stay what they would bring.
No repair for many years,
'Twas I who broke the seamless gears.
Not a watch or father grand,
But something smaller, within your hand
And in your head, in that, for sure,
My ceasless ceasing of ticking endure.
I whisper soft, not gleam or croak,
For what am I? A clock that's broke.