A Funny Thing, Perception

A funny thing, perception Up the hill towards twenty-one The dawdling clock seems never to run Only its movement belies deception After twenty-five, an odd exchange No pace of a sluggish plodder The downbeat of the tread is hotter Daunting milestones within range Now, the fleeting measure races Seasons trade with reckless flurry The ticking gallop leaves me blurry To arrest this sprint, my mind chases