#412 The Hands Of Time Poem by Jimmie Arrington

Allow me to describe the scene:
It's night outside, the house is clean.
The lights hang dimly overhead,
My Jill's getting ready for bed.

My Jude sits quiet next to me,
Watching a cartoon on TV.
His small hands clasp his favorite drink,
His lips smile, his cheeks are pink.

My baby Sam is on my lap,
He's fighting sleep, his eyelids flap.
Five little fingers grasp my thumb
And at this point I'm overcome.

I feel content, such love, such peace,
It's like a Rockwell masterpiece.
Then I feel a struggle within,
A jolt of fear where joy had been.

How do I pause the hands of time?
How do I stop the clocks next chime?
How do I keep this moment here,
So we don't age another year.

My little boys are growing fast,
What can I do to make this last?
If I secure them close and tight,
Would that help curb times appetite?

I know I cannot do a thing
To control the pendulums swing.
But if I could avoid the bier
Forever I would stay right here.