The hour should be filled,

far too easy the will of temptation

to wilfully neglect the extra granted Time

and yet the 25 hours that the day resides

within, that nests

like a brooding mare, nostrils flaring

and eyes wide, brown and expectant, is soon squandered,

soon relieved of its majesty

and wonder

and the time,

the precious awkward Time,

the moments between the tic and the tock…

…disappear in dream like slumber.

 

The cry of ages, I don’t have enough Time,