Along a sunless wall

Rests a cottage, a rosy wonder to all

On the front porch lie logs of wood

And below a fair maiden sits on a swing 

For when the minutes fatefully align,

The entire lodging begins to chime

And as the bluebirds atop resound,

Our fair maiden sways in rhyme!

Yet once the moment is finally done,

Once the minute has passed once more,

The joyous chirp from the lovely house

Has been silenced to a tick

And with the next tock, the maiden is still,

As she possesses none of her own free will,

While she is condemned to a lifeless litany

Chained to the seconds, minutes, and hours

That shall never set her free

Once the years have trotted by their timely staccato

Our maiden lies weary, for her color begins to fade

But after she is dappled with a coat of paint,

The cogs at the heart of her quaint chateau

Die a bitter red.