Writing as time goes by swiftly now

Have you ever lain in bed
Sunday morning
Looked up
Saw the shadows
Move gently on your ceiling
As the wind rustles
Through the blinds
And thought
Hey
It’s been four hours
Lying here
The heat has risen
It’s not sunrise anymore
It’s past noon
And I’ve been writing
All my poems all this time
Then I feel a bit of guilt
At time that’s lost
But realise
Time has been saved
In my writing
Time stamped
So to me it’s no real loss
A writer can only
Understand
That time is not wasted
When stories or poems
Are close at hand
And sunny days come to an end
And nights draw close
And beds get tucked in neat
again
Time stands still as we write
We are aware that day is different to
Night
But the time we love the most
Is when time is ours to write