Twelve Minutes (Eighth Sonnet)

The time for sunlight to reach my old desk
Finds all people equal, cursed and the blessed;
The time for blood in my dreaming arm clots
Is your favourite song in twelve bar knots.
Our time to choose stairs, or elevator,
To views of Rome where many years later
Alone I returned, with my bag of regrets;
The time stays silent, with words never said.
The time for walking towards my gallows,
And judges drowned in red-rising shallows;
The time of pens to write a brief letter,
Gifts to a friend you have feeling better;
The time we lost for a bomb to explode
Should be time re-wired, to write this new ode.

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