A child is grown
And gone so fast,
It leaves us looking to the past
Wondering where the time has gone.

Each memory we hold so dear
Seems to become more clear
With each fleeting, passing year,
And then it's gone.

The years roll into each other
Hard to distinguish from another,
They seem to be wrapped together,
Mingled like a tapestry.

Yesterday you were one;
Tomorrow you'll be twenty.
Next week I hold my grandchild ~
After that, you're holding yours. . .

. . .And I am left wondering. . .
"Where has the time flown?"

Dreama Hildebrand
May 26, 1998

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