From 2 to 3 a.m. Who stirs?
My alarm says 7 when I awake
But my radio tells me it is eight!
I pull back curtains – in comes light
Blue skies are such a welcome sight
So I decide to wend my way
To the local market and make hay!
Daffs and tulips in the sun
No crowds - so where is everyone?
Each stall serves me very fast
I look for friends as I walk past
But I’m out of luck, they lie abed
Or are maybe queuing for fresh bread
And once again the day looks bleak
Alone, I buy myself a treat.
I walk back slowly, time to kill,
A neighbour greets me up the hill
With a question which is obsolete:
“Don’t the clocks go on next week?”
(c) Poet in the woods 2014
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