The Insomniac-Poetess

Lying in bed, turning and tossing, is one of my least favorite hobbies, and yet, I seem to partake in it quite regularly. Thus you see before you tonight's (this morning's?) post.

I started to write this poem on our trip to Oregon and finished it a few days after we returned home. It is about how Time is simply a measurement of the Earth's rotation on its axis and its progress around the sun. Therefore, would Time cease if the Earth stopped in its movements?

Each instance of the Earth's parade
About its maypole sun
Officiates a year's demise--
Declares four seasons done

A year is meted out oblong
And into twelfths is sliced--
The portions thus produced are months
Which into weeks are diced

A week sequesters seven days
Of hours, twenty four
Which julienned with sharper tools
Make sixty segments more

Each minute's divvied sixty times
Into tidy seconds--
Today spins into yesterday
As tomorrow beckons

All lives are measured constantly
And shorter ever found--
Each period unrolls outstretched-
A skein of yarn unwound

If cosmic brakes applied could halt
The planet's pirouette
Or stop the sphere's race 'round the sun
To tick would clocks forget?

(Arrrgh...I'm still not tired.)