By  Papaw  4/26/05 for her 12th birthday.


There must be a place between north and south pole.

It must be near by, some kind of a hole.

That swallows up days and weeks, even years.

For time has been lost.  It just disappears.


‘Twas not long ago, with entrance most grand.

A little girl was born, you could hold in your hand.

But she did not breathe.  Her heart did not beat.

Then just in one week she was up on her feet.


Climbing up on chairs to jump to the ground.

Then staying with papaw, riding cycles around.

For her first day in school, she got up at three.

It was only last year, you’ll surely agree.


Wasn’t it only last week, with flourish and flair.

Held a pretend violin and bow in the air.

Now she performs with style and grace.

When only last week she had mush on her face.


I must find that hole that swallows up time.

That makes years fly by.  It’s surely a crime.

I’ll plug it up tight.  Time won’t get away.

For youth is so sweet.  I want it to stay.