continue onward, continue on;
the new bland moment is tapping its toes across
the cold steel floor in this waiting room glow.

the hours are long as they go counting down to
the old silver pond in the pale moonlit glade.

the hilltops sing across a glancing light bounces,
the noontime sinks to a dull sullen gaze

the slightest hint of a minute's twitch,
like conceals the jester
a smirk with each passing joke.