hands so fine
I dare not hold
face so smooth
your age untold
style and grace
that ne’er grow old
faithful and true
as the years unfold
I profess my love —
may I be so bold —
of my clock, so long
as its battery charge holds
In response to NaPoWriMo early-bird prompt: write a poem in the form of a love letter… to an object.
What Rhymes with Stanza? 
Your muse lent you a hand for at least a second or two.
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That sweeping second hand, it never stays around for more than a minute. Just like my muse.
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She may be fleeting but she is always clever and usually timely. And I am certain that I have no more puns to throw around. 🙂
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Don’t sell yourself short. 🙂
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