Time Is What We Make It

When we are children, very small
Around our mother’s knee
We think the time will never come
When we are grown you see

Then we are teens we hang around
It seems so very long
“When will we be adults?” we say
And be out on our own.

Then we are young adults
With children of our own
We run around this busy life
When will they be grown?

And then we’re old we ask ourselves
Where has the years all gone?
We turn around a time or two
Then we are all alone.

Mary Francis Kierepka
3/17/1932-9/28/2017