For Bria - of this day the queen:
Ah, she has eyes of purest green,
Her teeth are nothing if not white,
Her soft, sweet smile a fair delight;
Her cheeks are like a nectarine.
This lass, with hair of golden sheen,
I pray this verse does not demean;
Or else my own cheek I would smite
For Bria!
For on this day, with rapture seen
By rich, by poor, by those between,
I do not wish to place a blight,
Be it great or be it slight,
But wish an overjoyed nineteen
For Bria!
I'm so brilliant! That name is so much more accurate than "Daylight Saving Time", because who can actually literally "save" daylight? God, and God alone! (Just check out the book of Joshua in the Bible, or watch A Knight's Tale.) The whole situation reminds me of the legend in which some king named Canute proved that he wasn't omnipotent by unsuccessfully ordering the tide to retreat. What happened? It kept coming! DUUUHH! And you can't change the amount of sunlight any more than you can change the tide! Good grief! What are people thinking!?!?!? Sigh. I guess I'm the only sane person in this world. I mean, who else would have thought of a title for DST that is so much more appropriate?
So, now it's confession time. I didn't think of it myself! I was plagiarizing!!!! At least, I would have been, were I not to point you to this little link. The whole idea came from someone else; I just argued the point much more eloquently.
But more importantly...what is so very right about it?
Here are some hints:
It was a stunning day in early October, a perfect example of the ideal jour d'automne. The radiant sun shown brilliantly on the radiant leaves, and all was just as any idealist would expect. Longingly, Aaron had gazed at the inviting outdoors, barely managing to force himself to continue his schoolwork. The view through his window beckoned unmercifully, but still he persevered.
When he had finally finished the bulk of his academic allotment, Aaron ventured out into the glory of the brisk New Hampshire day, armed with his camera, to record the splendor. Unfortunately, many of his pictures did not come out as well as he had hoped, a disappointment probably best blamed on the lighting. You see, it was a bit late in the day, and the pale autumn sun was already sinking behind the scarlet treeline. Nevertheless, our hero pressed on, determined to get the best photographs possible. You may be the judge of whether he succeeded.
Aaron first headed toward the swamp behind his house, a place quite full of gorgeous foliage - though not as full as it had been several years ago. The swamp had once been so replete with gold and crimson that it was widely considered one of the seven wonders of the modern Bedford. That was before the beavers. Certainly, the beavers were a joy to watch, and they made the pond a joy to look at; but their diligent improvement and expansion of the dam so raised the water level that all but the highest of trees in the swamp drowned, partially drowning the beauty of the area...but not completely. It was the few surviving maples, still lovely in their loneliness, that Aaron set out to capture in megabytes.
Aaron wandered around the edge of the swamp and along the east side of the pond, snapping pictures as he went.
Presently, as Aaron approached the lawn above the pond, a hideous monster came barreling at him out of the shadows! 
His first thought was "So the Hound of the Baskervilles wasn't fiction after all!" and he would have said in spectral tones
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if dog or devil!
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--
On this home by horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore:
Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me I implore!"
Quoth the mongrel, "Nevermore."
