A Poor Man's Birthday Poem by Gladden Scribbles

Laggardly, I watched the hour hand land
And over it trudged the shadow of the minute hand,
Which these eyes have longed to see,
As it steers the former toward morn I now see.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock
The second hand forever glides in my clock.

I rose against the light of the day,
Just like I'd do every fated day.
Today, I knew I'd bid twenty-four a bye-bye,
For the reverberation in my ears wouldn't let it slip by.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock
The hour has come to visit the dock.

I checked my mails, I sauntered the street,
My being longed for wishes calm and sweet.
But there was none, and I knew why—
I am P-O-O-R, and it made me cry.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock
It is time to return to my block.

Maybe my day will be remembered when I'm rich,
Or by my verses when I lie in life's final ditch.
But I know today is that day,
That I do celebrate my birthday.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock
Now on my bed, I'm rocking in my socks.