I don’t make precious jewels Neither do I make intricate sculptures from wood or stone I can’t even wrap my head around paintings Nor can I claim to understand the inner workings of a clock I don’t know the basics of baking Needless to say I can’t go near a beautiful dress
But there is one thing I know how make A priceless thing at that People wish they could own it Yet it often just slips through their fingers
Newborns have it to spare Foggies are scrunching for more Kids spend theirs playing and laughing Adults often wish they had spent theirs more wisely
I’m very good at making my thing Too bad I can’t sell it for a living At least I can make it for myself And give it to the people I care about
But sometimes… The person I love about can’t give me theirs They say… “I don’t have enough for myself, I don’t have enough for you”
And to that I just want to say… “Just make more time, I made time for you I expected the same in return”
The idea behind this poem is that time is something you make, not something you have.