To the lost hour of sleep that goes tonight
Out somewhere between dreams and single socks,
I grieve your death, I think it is not right,
To yield you up each time we spring the clocks.
Does all lost time commingle in the void?
Arranged in cliques and old exclusive clubs,
Hours that lovers wish they could employ,
Or minutes used up looking for a glove?
I know your sacrifice brings longer days,
And promises of more sunshine and blooms,
But now beneath the moonlight's tired gaze,
Your time, now lost, would be to me a boon.
This sign of springtime time promising its charms,
Somehow always makes louder my alarm.
Out somewhere between dreams and single socks,
I grieve your death, I think it is not right,
To yield you up each time we spring the clocks.
Does all lost time commingle in the void?
Arranged in cliques and old exclusive clubs,
Hours that lovers wish they could employ,
Or minutes used up looking for a glove?
I know your sacrifice brings longer days,
And promises of more sunshine and blooms,
But now beneath the moonlight's tired gaze,
Your time, now lost, would be to me a boon.
This sign of springtime time promising its charms,
Somehow always makes louder my alarm.
No comments:
Post a Comment