Daylight Saving Poem by Iohannes Silvaticus

When they were young
The night used to follow them
Back home into their beds and
Keep them up all night.
They could never understand
Why hotcakes weren't available
Past eleven, that early was not 3am,
And the meaning of the word 'lunch'.

If I need to explain it, it is a little bit
Like the idea of daylight saving.
Everyday he'd put a little in a jar;
It glowed furiously in his bedside drawer
Which he always had to keep closed.

Their weekends were more vibrant than
The entire range Crayola had to offer.
The flowers he got her never seemed to expire.
It was a little odd and a little bit magical.
It comes as no surprise then, for them
To spend the twilight of their years
Walking into sunsets.

On one particularly fine evening,
Too many a grey hair into their long years,
They went out on their routine walks
And decided to abandon all hope
Of having McDonald's hotcakes anymore.
I never saw them again.
It was then when I reached into that drawer
And found that the jar had lost its glow,

But still radiating the warmth of love.