Precious Time © Jennifer Crook
Faded and frail with a coffee stain, secret book of words from a country train
little souvenirs of a rainbow life, treasure trove of all the dark and light
back when it stretched ahead for years and we had all we needed
Time, time, precious time
slipping through these hands of mine
I’ve got less of it to waste, more to find
precious time
precious time
In the house of dreams there’s a broken chair, pretty little rocks in a box somewhere
there’s a face I love in a picture frame, she would not believe how the world has changed
and how the weeks and months go by and whisper now or never
Those were the days I said to my old friend
he said, no, these are the days and I don’t want them to end
Why does it take staring death in the face before we really want to live?
I’m not really sure of myself these days but I know that I’ve got more to give with this
Time, time, precious time...