Clocks

Darkness comes early
When the arbiter of time
Takes back that morning
I spent walking around
My hallway at 6am
Listening to larks
Chirp without care
Their body clocks tick
I lie back and stare
At the painting
Wisps of white
Dull morning light
Moving on.
Is it wasteful
Thoughtfully catnapping
At sunrise?
When the lost hour
Comes as a shock
I mourn its passing
Long for that day
In late autumn
Where time appears
To standstill.
If only, for an hour

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Clocks

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