No Time More Precious

Pride and Joy

What’s your most prized possession?

I think about this question:
Facile answers seem self-serving.
I have so many things, it seems;
But for which thing(s) reserving

The highest spot of honor is
Quite difficult, indeed —
For I have all that I might want,
And more than what I need.

Like most, my things become attached
To people in my mind;
Reminding me of times, I didn’t
Want to leave behind

The books of my kids’ childhoods,
The comics of my own;
The snapshots of forgotten days —
With all of these, I’m prone

To live again some bygone time
That means the world to me:
I prize these things because they are
Part of my history.

But on my desk at work, there is
A picture of my dad,
My son and me (my son was six) –
It kind of makes me sad

For it’s the only photo
Of the three of us I’ve got:
It means as much to me
As any ‘thing’ – it means a lot –

For no time is more precious –
Or, in retrospect, as sad –
As knowing now we didn’t know
How little time
We had

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