There's always too little of it,
And it slips away so fast.
Sometimes it's all we have,
And no way to make it last.
We never know how much there is,
Or how long before it's gone;
We know that we have no more,
We cannot carry on.
We count its passing carefully,
As if its length we knew,
In years and months, weeks and days,
To mention but a few.
I spend a lot of it loving,
Caring, sharing and such;
And give it to my dearest friends,
Those I love so much.
And when it's gone, we wonder
Just exactly where it went.
I've no idea, but I know
Mine must have been well spent. |
