The Walking Talking Clock

In shadows deep, where moonbeams creep, A bedroom sleeps, in slumber deep. Toys are still, the curtains sway, Waiting for the break of day.

But hark! A tick, then something strange, The clock upon the dresser range! No silent sweep, no gentle chime, It booms a voice, defying time!

"Well, hello there, sleepyhead! The Walking Talking Clock," it said. A tiny Child, eyes wide with fright, Peers from the covers in the night.

The Moon outside, a cheesy grin, Peeks through the window, joining in. "Tell us a story!" Child does plead, Planting the thought like a tiny seed.

The Clock, he winks, its hands alight, And starts a tale, so silly, bright! Of dancing socks and singing shoes, And purple peas that sing the blues!

The Moon it giggles, soft and low, The Child's mouth quirks, a smile starts to grow. The Clock recounts, with click and clack, Of bouncing beds and piggyback... …Riding radishes in outer space, With pickles piloting at rapid pace!

He spoke of broccoli building blocks, And silly squirrels wearing polka dots. Each story spun, a funny thread, Until the Child fell back in bed.

The Moon, it yawned, a silvery sigh, As dawn began to paint the sky. The Clock grew quiet, its voice so faint, Its silly stories like a painted saint.

The Child then smiled, eyes nearly shut, "That was the best! No ifs, and buts!" He drifted off to slumber deep, With radish pilots in his sleep. The Clock stood silent, bold and grand, A very tick-tock helping hand. And knew it gave the perfect pleasure, The very best goodnight measure.