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MY TIMEPIECE.

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

IT stands upon a little shelf,

And watches everything I do,

And winks and blinks till I am through,

Then says, like some bewitching elf, -

"You 're through, you're through!"

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If, impatiently I bide the time,

And find some cause to fume and fret

That expectations linger yet,

It lazily repeats the rhyme, -

"Not yet, not yet!" -

And when I am in haste, you know,

And carelessly miscalculate,

It ticks with pace accelerate,

And then it mocks me as I go, -

"Too late, too late!"

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