A Poem to Time

O Time, where do you run to? What do you do with yourself? Why do you leave us with so little of you?

Each week, you wear yourself so thin, we hardly get a glimpse of you.
Before we know it, it’s Friday night and we’re clutching our glass of wine,
Desperately trying to stay awake for a little longer.
Trying to stay awake, just to feel like we’ve got more of you, Time, for ourselves.

Has it really been a year since the last Wimbledon tournament?
And have I actually been married for two months now?
It doesn’t sound very long, but this time last year,
We were still deciding how to celebrate our wedding day.

The years that seem to have slipped by too, where have you gone with those?
Am I really now the age my Mum was when I made my arrival?
Wasn’t my youngest sister, now taller than me, with GCSEs looming,
Only recently toddling around with a bow in her hair?

Wasn’t it just yesterday that Dad was battling my fever through the night, nursing me to good health;
His 6 year-old in agony, him doing whatever it took, no matter how long it took?

What about the coming years?
Will you slip them from us too, while we sleep, work, struggle and laugh?
Will I look at my ageing husband, as beautiful as ever, and wonder when his charming wrinkles appeared?
Will I look at my own body and strive to recognise it after the roller coaster ride that children and life will take us on?

Don’t run so fast, Time.
We wish you away when we await something in eagerness,
Then hope you’d slow down when we see an end we don’t want to accept.
Won’t you slow down, Time, and smell the roses with us?