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In a cuckoo clock,
Birds emerge every hour
Like tongues stuck out
To surprise the world.
Now, we are the cuckoos.
Each night as dinner ends
We spring out of our doors
To sing our clanging song.
One at a time it is just noise.
Abused pots hurt the ears.
But when we stop and listen
There is music all around.
Is it a coincidence we share
not a melody, but rhythm?
Metallic clamor becomes
Danceable percussion?
We jut out, pealing the time,
Celebrating the life givers,
and the risk-takers,
declaring that now is the time
To care, to care, to care.