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 fountainβs wet floor!
Those elms look familiar βround 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. ; )
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