Pull the pointless hands from the clock.
Insistent is its endless tock.
Oh, that time could stand still
And yield so to our will.
Our deepest wishes could come true.
With all that time what could we do?
The countries we could see
And arrive instantly!
We could fly to the silver moon
And be back again before noon.
Lie all day on the sands,
A sunbeam in each hand.
We could dance the night away
And keep on dancing through the day.
Each perfect hour would last
With all time in our grasp.
I have decided to experiment with different forms of poetry. This is my first attempt at an Horatian Ode (rhyming couplets of 8 and 6 syllables)
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