The Ox

The Ox

An ox tripped on a box and spilled a bunch of clocks;
With bells, and ticks, and tocks:  They frightened Mr. Ox!
He hid them in some rocks and stuffed them in his socks;
Though sly just like a fox, he couldn’t stop the ticks and tocks!

“My stars!” exclaimed the ox, “How much the tocking shocks!
The tapping and the knocks hurt my hooves and hocks,
Like knocking over blocks when someone pulls the chocks
And dumps the butter crocks at busy shipping docks!”

He took the open box and closed it with some locks
While in a farmer’s stocks of cattle, herds, and flocks,
And yards of hens and cocks – the keys fell plickitty plox.
There’s nothing else which mocks a silly, clumsy ox!

“Oh no!” cried Mr. Ox.  He forgot to put the clocks
That he hid among the rocks and stuffed down in his socks
Into the empty box; and now the keys to locks
Are down in boon and docks, or a hundred little pocks.

The ox sat on the box and grinned like seven crocs;
For now he saw the paradox:  an ox dumb as an ox.