A missed opportunity has caused our hero to write a lament,
An ode to his perpetual disappointment.
For he acquired something rare, this being a date,
But alas he squandered it,
by being very late.
To say it was his fault would not be true,
The thing is,
His sense of time is rather askew.
And so he proceeded to explain in melodic lines,
His peculiar relationship with time:
‘I bask in the present, deluded that it will last,
But the clock ticks still, while I am stuck in the past.
And as I reside there, in relaxed stupor,
It seizes me suddenly,
Underestimate minutes that elapse during my actions.
Eating pieces of time, and chewing its fractions.
And all the while, you lay in wait,
And I am sorry
But I was already ten minutes late.
I know you don’t think I care,
But I was being-towards-the-future,
Deciding what to wear.
And on the bus, I said I’d be there in ten,
But you’d been waiting forty minutes,
And decided to leave then.
Alas I missed you, due to my imbalance,
But I can’t help it, I’m severely time-challenged.
Perhaps I can never atone, but one certainly tries,
So all I can do,
Is melodically apologize.’
And while he was finding chords for this apology,
He saw that it was already half past three.
And elsewhere she stood, at three fifty five,
Still waiting for him to arrive.
So here lies a time-based tragedy,
About a someone who was allergic to punctuality.
The reasons for his ailment, he does not know,
But it might have something to do with his watch,
Being rather slow.