Clock poem

A clock in my kitchen

always kept the time

until one day

the clocks went back

and left my clock behind.

Neglected and ignored,

its numbers were inaccurate.

The family favoured the newer clock;

its timekeeping was immaculate.

Poor little clock

got a nasty shock -

it plum thought it was three

but this was not to be:

the other clocks said two

and my sad little clock found it quite the catastrophe.

If it had had a voice it would have shouted

"Jammy gits!"

If it had had a fist it would have smashed the new clock's bits.

But it didn't.

It just sat there feeling very small

and pretty soon we had forgotten 

it was ever there

at all.