~
we wake the stolen hour long behind/
to a bright but brittle sun/that oddly hides its polished shine,
seeking the kilter of this amputated day/ we change ancient
clocks/ the old-fashioned tried and tested way/
as breakfast yawns/ through to early noon/
lunch becomes brunch/ arriving like uninvited guests far too soon/
anon I retreat with book and crossword puzzle/ to a favourite chair,
to see if the lost hour I seek/ is hiding there/
success! I doze around the stroke of three/ and wake at four o’clock/
to fresh baked scones and a piping hot cup of tea.
© Graham R Sherwood 03/26
grahamrichardsherwood.co.uk 