Who am I, a broken clock,

Who rings a bell and says tick-tock

Amidst the glorious choir sing

And silent, stay what they would bring.

No repair for many years,

'Twas I who broke the seamless gears.

Not a watch or father grand,

But something smaller, within your hand

And in your head, in that, for sure,

My ceasless ceasing of ticking endure.

I whisper soft, not gleam or croak,

For what am I? A clock that's broke.