The wintry sun slants soft against the gnomon
From which hangs a glittering silken thread,
Lingering presence of spider unknown,
Frozen in time, so patiently it waits.
The silent stillness calms the pace of time,
Weak shadow barely marks the time of day,
The Roman num'rals now cannot be seen,
Painted out by Winter's icy hands.
The strength'ning sun its zenith now attains,
Faint rays of warmth and hope can now be felt;
The tiny beads of water turn to steam
And leave the Roman dial to speak again.
For now the time shines bright in burnished brass:
'Noon', solar time, on his diurnal way
Great Helios can once again proclaim,
But mean time in Greenwich: twelve-o-six.
William Messent Jones
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-winter-sundial/
