Late, it has never been early,
Time run down by nearly placed on nearly.
Half a half, half a quarter, half an eighth
Et alia will not attain
The Arabian wraith.
Full, it has never been empty
Of chords and the constituents of plenty.
Buttons of all great-coats come undone
Before the pail refilled in spring:
Well is the thing.
Sad, it has never been happy;
One more spring is deep and trapped
And harder seams repel the soil,
Dismay the seed:
We sadly wait, and badly need.