March is nearly gone,
and clocks jumped forwards an hour,
to bring morning fast.
I got up at six,
and found out it was seven,
what a shock that was.
All clocks are liars,
but too often we believe,
they can tell the time.
My paintings are fine,
that’s what I tell myself now,
and add some colour.
Moon day is ending,
and it didn’t show itself,
just some big bright stars.
I’m falling asleep,
the waves of slumber roll in,
rocking me to sleep.
