Oh me, oh my, I think myself I did con

In stashing by direction of that gnomon,

Which had so pointed to a securest tree

At what was, I believed, a quarter past three.

But, now, it is cast ten minutes until five

And I did not place them under that beehive.

Could it have been pointing through fifteen past four?

Eek! Never put acorns by fountain’s wet floor!

Those elms look familiar ‘round the clock of six,

Though I would have remmied that mum and her chicks.

Oh me, oh my, there is never a right time

When storing by the passing of dialed rhyme. ; )