The Clock Moves Forward

Warming soil sifts through
my hand
reminding me of sand
on a summer’s beach
while I reach within the tiny packet,
remove the seeds to plant
and think to the future,
hoping these crops will grow,
leaping forward one hour through time
into a new season
I’ve yet to know.

I feed the soil,
pushing forward conditions
to ease the toil of what’s to come,
and so I have time to ponder on
what now to do
and the time now gone.

Author: George McDermid

I scratch out poems, and the odd little tale. Mostly for my own amusement.

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