The Cuckoo Poem by Rose Fyleman

THE cuckoo is a tell-tale,

A mis chief -making bird;
He flies to East, he flies to West
And whispers into every nest

The wicked things he's heard;
He loves to spread his naughty lies,
He laughs about it as he flies ;
'Cuckoo,' he cries, 'cuckoo, cuckoo 5

It's true, it's true.'

And when the fairies catch him

His busy wings they dock,
They shut him up for evermore
(He may not go beyond the door)

Inside a wooden clock;
Inside a wooden clock he cowers
And has to tell the proper hours
'Cuckoo,' he cries, 'cuckoo, cuckoo,

It's true, it's true.