Classic Poem

The hour-hand and the minute-hand upon a polished dial
A meeting planned at twelve o'clock to walk and talk awhile.
The Hour-hand with the Minute-hand could never keep apace.
“The speed at which you move,” he said, “is really a disgrace!”

Then laughed the Minute-hand and sang, “The way that I must go
Is marked with milestones all along, and there are twelve, you know.
And I must call at each of these before my journey's done,
While you are creeping like a snail from twelve o'clock to one.
So now, farewell! But we shall meet again, good sir,” said he,
“The road that we are following is circular, you see!”