The troubled light of December, seven o’ clock
the clucking annoyance of the second hand
These are the stains that describe your breakfast
your mouths are hovering-harmonium-talk
Now that the light is so bitter and literal
we lose one battle; we win other wars
You are made of just ghee and molasses--
and pools of unhurried, inundant memoirs.
And after all that, Li'l A made off with a medal in the spelling bee today. Perhaps slow and steady does win the race :).