Passing

I cannot wait for her embrace
To see her in my arms again
And run a finger down her face
To touch her nose. To wait for then
Feels like a burden, though the time
Is short compared to what it was
And so I turn my thoughts to rhyme
To see if that can help. It does
But only roundaboutly, for
With every word I write I see
The time that stands so firm before
My time with her melt rapidly
And so by writing I can spend
Quickly the time before that end.