“A quarter to seven’s too early to meet
And I just don’t believe you can half past a nine,
A ten to eleven just looks at me odd.”
Said the odd Mr. Keating, who hadn’t the time.

It was not the case that he had not enough,
Or he had not a clock for this just wasn’t true.
For he had a fabulous silvery watch,
But he just couldn’t read it, he had not a clue.

“At nineteen to nineteen I’m having my tea,
And at twenty to thirty get fitted for socks.
At half past a quarter I’m looking at books,
And I know I’ll be busy through all the o’clocks.”

“I’ll stop by the tailor’s by twenty-two past,
But I’m not sure past what so I’ll have to stop twice.
I must take a call from a man I’ve named Paul,
Around twelve if it rains but thirteen if it’s nice.”

“I’ve planned to be tickled at five past a pickle.
My serious matters I just must attend.
I have half a mind to go stand in a line,
So I may head to town at a squirrel-to-ten.”

For forty-one minutes his schedule went on,
Mr. Keating reciting and writing his list.
It wasn’t ideal, but he’d scheduled the spiel,
Or for certain a plan of his may have been missed.

“At half past a roast I will sit down for lunch
And I’ve already ordered so guess what I’ll eat.”
“A roast?” was my guess when he looked back distressed,
And said “No! Onion soup, for I never eat meat.”

“And then at a five until quarter-ten past,
Twenty-four from a half and a bit on a dime,
Around all the threes, I will do what I please,
And that looks to be nothing if I have the time.”

“If I can get free from the times when I’m not,
Does a time work for you? Shall I schedule our chat?”
I looked in his book and he wrote in a note,
Between two-forty-scarf and a half past a hat.

The time now decided, he calmed down a bit,
(While I had no idea when to be at his spot.)
“So, why are we meeting?” I asked Mr. Keating.
“Oh beans, now it seems that I’ve gone and forgot.”

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