Spaces in time

I wrote this in the mid eighties. Not the best time in my life.

Spaces in time so rapidly pass,
Like the fruit on the trees,
They grow from a seed, ripen, then wither.
But you know, if it were up to me I'd find a way to save them.

The spaces come, and the spaces go.
Each bringing it's own event.
Leaving nothing but memories of yesterdays,
And the wonder of where they went.

Is there a way I ask myself,
To hang on to this space in time?
Or must it go as will today,
And be remembered only in this rhyme?

Like a handful of sand slips thru your fingers.
Like the fruit that rots, then falls.
These ever so precious spaces in time,
Disappear then loneliness calls.

Once again as in days before,
My space has touched another's.
But the joy of it's ripeness brings also pain.
Because in my heart I know,
This space will pass again.

But I refuse to feel the pain,
I'll drown it with my wine.
For now I'll just feel the magic,
Of this wonderful space in time.