Time Poem

It's February and soon, for me, Christmas will be looming,
while for you it is a country far across the sea.

For me, the far country is twenty-something,
while you count each quarter year.

Time and tide flow differently around us
as we flick or wade through

A thousand seconds.
Little more than half a day.

If I could borrow some of your extra long hours,
I'd sleep.

Sleep and claw some time back.
Hold off the grey.

For some stupid reason, thelink to my companion post to this won't work - it works in draft? So if you're interested, see my last blog post. www.infantasia.blogspot.com