A few extra minutes, or so I have found
Can be desperately boring while waiting around
For the sound of the time clock to ring in your ears
Telling you quitting time’s finally here

You try to find something that’s useful to do
(But still won’t take more than a minute or two)
You sharpen a pencil, or straighten a file,
As opposed to just standing around all the while

Just twiddling fingers (or twiddling toes)
While wondering where in the Hell the time goes
For it’s creeping right past you, when hours before
It seemed to be racing right out of the door

.. When phones had been ringing right off of the wall
(The stack for your filing, increasingly tall)
It seemed there were millions of things left to do
(You wondered, at that time, if you’d ever get through)

But now that you’re finished, the time’s at a crawl
(Your moments til freedom are really quite small)
And yet they move slowly, like mud, or quick - sand.
It’s out of my league, I just don’t understand

How a creature as time can have come to exist
When science proclaims it a constant .. insists
That it never can vary or slow.
Then where, can you tell me, just where does time go?

I’m waxing prolific, I’ve let my thoughts roam
But while taking the moments to set down this poem
I’ve managed to waste a good portion of time
Just thinking of interesting phrases to rhyme

The day, it is finished, it’s now time to leave
For the ending of this poem, I really can’t grieve
Please forgive my retoric, it’s been rather fun;
Now, you please must excuse me, I really must run!