TIME ON MY HANDS
Time doesn’t work the way it used to,
Time doesn’t work the way it should.
Early, always early-an hour, a day;
It seems like there’s always more time,
I’m not used to it.
Why, why is there so much extra time?
I don’t remember it being that way.
My days were limned by a musical chime,
Summoning me to this task or that;
I thought it annoying
Now she who needed me is gone away,
And my time has become all my own.
I used to think this would be a fun day,
A no worries day. But she’s not here,
And I miss that damned chime.
December 15, 2011