And at my back I often hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near
On this occasion prompting me to pick up Ted
So ticking clocks instead of poems fill my head.
The time is just announced: twelve forty-five
And so away goes pencil, Rachel, notepad. I must drive
To school! My small boy must be retrieved
And Flora woken from her sleep. She will be grieved!
But what can I do? My writing must fit in
With childcare, mess, meal prep and tidyin'.
