As time keeps creeping by,
a languid tick and tock,
from the corner of my eye
I keep watch upon the clock.
Why is it that midday,
though frantically sought,
so quickly slips away
as soon as it is caught?
I wish I had the might
to hold the moment still
like a flower balanced right
upon the windowsill.
But, alas, it must give way
to the long, lingering rest of the day.
“Noon” is a beautiful sonnet. How often I wish I could grasp a moment in time in my hand!