Changing Times

In summer’s warm embrace, we basked with glee,
The sunlit days, so carefree and bright,
But now, the winds of winter swiftly flee,
And darkness claims the early hours of night.

As leaves turn gold and crimson, falling slow,
The world transforms, in colours all ablaze,
Yet in our cosy homes, we soon must know,
The clocks in every room must change their phase.

But oh, the task of remembering them all,
From kitchen to the hallway, one by one,
As time slips by, we hear the chiming call,
To set the hands to greet the frosty sun.

In this transition, seasons bid farewell,
From summer’s warmth to winter’s cold embrace,
The ticking clocks, their tales they’ll surely tell,
Of time’s unceasing march, at its own pace.

What Time Is It?!

In the realm of early morn, when stars yet grace the sky,
A traveller awakens, with a yawn and sleepy sigh.
“OMG, what time is this?” their weary mind does ask,
For at 4 AM they rise, to catch a plane so fast.

Beneath the gentle moonlight, they slip out of their bed,
A suitcase by their side, where dreams and hopes are wed.
With tousled hair and bleary eyes, they stumble through the hall,
In search of caffeine’s solace, to answer morning’s call.

The airport looms ahead, a realm of hustle and of haste,
Where time is but a fleeting guest, the minutes move with haste.
Security lines wind, as seconds slowly fade,
The traveler waits in patience, their mind a serenade.

And as the wheels leave the ground, ascending into the sky,
The traveller finds solace in the question, “Oh my, oh why?”
For though the hour was early, and the world still half asleep,
The dawn became their witness, secrets only they shall keep.

So, let the clock’s hands march on, in timeless melody,
As journeys born at dawn unfold, with boundless reverie.
For in those precious moments, when time feels like a bliss,
The traveller whispers, “OMG, what time is this?”

Running Late!

We’ve all been there, haven’t we?!

In the morning’s haste, I tumble from bed,
A frantic dance of thoughts inside my head.
The clock’s cruel hands, they mock my fate,
As I find myself in a race against late.

Tangled hair and mismatched socks adorn,
As I rush through the door, my heart is torn.
Time slips through my fingers like fleeting sand,
In this game of catch-up, I’m losing, unplanned.

The streets ahead, a blur of hurried souls,
I join the chase, my steps with purpose, bold.
But the world around me moves at a faster gait,
As I navigate the labyrinthine route of fate.

Apologies spill from my lips, sincere,
To those left waiting, their patience, I revere.
For in my tardiness, a lesson takes shape,
To value each moment, and the time we must embrace.

So I’ll learn from this race against the ticking clock,
To savor the minutes, however few or in stock.
For in running late, I’ve found a deeper truth,
That time is a gift, a treasure to cherish, in sooth.