Rolling time around in the palm of my hand,
I look upon it with awe.
How fast it moves,
like a babbling stream,
never ceasing so I can catch my breath.
Yesterdays become minutes;
tomorrows become todays in seconds.
Your delicate pink skin now dirt-stained,
in your eyes in the wisdom you think you own
and the innocence you will keep so briefly.
Rolling time around in the palm of my hand,
I look upon the remains of your childhood
pulled from beneath your pillow
and pray I'm strong enough
to steady your path
and carry you when you cannot cross.
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