Time

Time, it waits for no man.
At least, that’s what they say.
It’s measured out in hours:
Twenty-four in every day.
But since I’ve had my children,
I have learned that time can bend.
And I’ve realised quite quickly;
Father Time is not my friend.

He’s a bugger in the mornings
when we have to get to school.
We’re up at dawn, with tons of time.
Oh I am such a fool!
When will I learn, that six ‘til eight,
the hours drag like years.
But the half hour ‘til 8.30?
In a flash it disappears.

He loves to make the minutes stretch
when most I pray for speed.
Like in the supermarket queue
and during Kids TV.
Or when waiting at a restaurant
for our dinner to be brought.
It’s like he wants to stretch my nerves
until I’m really fraught.

But here’s the real conundrum:
though the minutes can go slow –
The months and years are skidding by
as the children quickly grow.
They change before my very eyes,
baby days just disappear.
How can those snail slow minutes
have so quickly brought us here?

So Father Time, I beg you,
Stop your clock from ticking fast.
I’ll never get these days again,
And they’re going much too fast.
If I promise not to swear at you
When bedtime takes three hours.
Will you give me a little longer,
to love these babes of ours?