An hour lost in circumstances,
certainty agreed,
Anachronistic rituals
Biannual in deed.
From GMT to BST
we lost an hour in bed
And need to readjust our whiles
to hold a common thread.
The tapestry we weave as one
awaits the warp and weft,
The spinning wheel of all we feel
with fingers numb or deft
Embroidered by our own desires
In patterns which collide
It’s time to sew our future hopes
On the carpet which we ride.
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