Time slips through my fingers
every moment sand in an hour glass.
As each little grain disappears
I wonder when I'll see the last.

Like a winter's storm they tumble,
Blinding as they speed past.
Sometimes slow, like a soft rain
falling first through a leafy mass.

Each memory, small and easily lost,
must be saved and cherished, in my heart.
Some fall away, forgotten at such great cost,
A piece of my soul, torn apart.