Poem for her 798

Dear Readers,



361


The time on the clock read 5 mins after
The hour hand was missing
I liked it that way
The minute hand was super slow
We had taken a few days to rig it
She suggested the minutes it would take
...to move just one minute on the clock
...we made notes then after a year
...put the notes in the fireplace one spring
We laughed when friends asked
We had forgotten the formula
It was over there on the wall of paintings
Hidden lightly
There were flowers drying on a line there
Time didn't have much meaning really
We were awake, or asleep
It was day or not
It was spring or fall
The outside world clocked didn't matter
We were HOME


Happy Birthday Babe,

Charles.