This was not the hour I wanted back—
A useless hour I missed, in bed asleep
And dreaming something meaningless. A black
Room and troubled rest, I would not keep,
Let alone choose to repeat. Why couldn’t this
Have been the last hour I spent with my brother?
My daughter’s first laugh? My first kiss?
A decent meal? Or nearly any other
Hour, nearly any other moment at all?
If I could make a bargain with the powers
That decide these things—could I not recall
Any number of more meaningful hours?
The hour may change, but dawn still comes at dawn;
The clocks turn back; the time’s forever gone
Yeah, I know. I still hate it.
I enjoyed that – very beautifully put.
And I agree – I’m struggling with the suddenly dark evenings and the dwindling motivation that occurs with the shortening of daylight hours.
The hour gained oh Cuttle dear
I trust in northern hemisphere,
is borrowed, swapped, or even leant
and soon returns from where it went.
But while you have it in your keeping
with wintry bed in which you’re sleeping
we down deep in southern clime
have given back our bit of time,
knowing that in six months hence
we will then in recompense
regain the hour that was lost
without interest, and with no cost,
and when that hour I do gain
while sheltering from the autumn rain,
the sun won’t shine so much on me
but once again will shine on thee.
I’d give ’em all for one more with her.
Thanks for this.
I’m so sorry, Randomfactor.
You make me laugh almost daily, and now you make me tear up. Damn.
Mahalo and Aloha nui, Cuttlefish.
I’ve never been able to figure out any point to changing our clocks twice a year. But like other pointless activities (for instance, religion), it has inspired great art. Cuttlefish and Mekat, those are both beautiful.