Those Delights

The morning portends promise of delights in the hours ahead.
Morning ages into mid-morning and slowly the mood builds.
As noon is welcomed, abated vigor is rehashed by timely lunch.
One wonders of those delights, will they come?

...just after, and sleep is all that matters, but unattainable.

Mid-afternoon, eyes on the hands of time, the latter crawling.
Work has been done when afternoon waves, but all unfulfilling.
And when the night, with its blackness, comes, you ponder those delights.
Will they come?