To cure a mockingbird

Many years ago, I daily visited a gentle family man who was terminally ill in bed. He was 80 years old and a widower, and was supported by his daughter, who lived with him.

One day I found him lying propped up on his bed and looking in a distressed state at the cuckoo clock hanging on the opposite wall. When I asked how he was feeling he told me: “I am very miserable as the cuckoo …