Chagrin D'amour Poem by Roy Ballard

Why do seconds hang and stay
when my love is far away
yet every hour will scurry fast
when she's in my arms at last?
If only I could lock the door
through which the precious seconds pour,
find the lock and fit the key
to keep them in eternally.
Is it despite of love that they
rush off and leave us sad this way:
left without delight, chagrined
like swallows in the winter wind.
If our love were scant and spare
the absence would be light to bear.
I would not have it so but yet
the more I love the worse they get.