Wait Times

Should I, like classic lovers, subdivide
My minutes into hours, and those long,
And claim that in those hours there could hide
As many minutes more, I would be wrong.
Likewise, if I pretended there could be,
Within a day of missing you, a year,
Or stretch that year into infinity
The truth and I would never then be near.
That's not to say poetical excess
Has no place left within the lover's heart,
But that I have no need to thus digress
From simple truth to read my lover's part:
The days I miss you are but days - but still
Too long a time for love to lack its will.