time in a bottle

Jim Croce has to be, in my estimation, one of the finest lyricists of my generation. And he withstands. I'd like to put time in a bottle...however, I can't deny how picky I'd be about the minutes and seconds I'd place there. There are some really big ones. And some I can barely remember...but want back to live over and over. And do-overs. And take-backs. Yes...I'm obviously having a lapse...a digression of sorts. I want back what I can't have. But I want it unspoiled by the pain and sorrow and fear of loss that accompanies everything. I want back a moment when I lay with my husband examining his eyelashes. He's Irish. And before chemo and the great hair loss, his eyelashes were curly. I want that moment back. I don't want to have to endure the bad things to get it...please, Jehovah, let me have it back.
The day my daughter Christine took her first step. Such strong legs. I want that back. The day Sara sat in the back seat of a friend's car and ate dog biscuits from a book bag, the coated kind, and got 'gravy' from head to toe. I want that back, please.
The day my son Shane first begged me 'tickle me, mommy'. I want that back, please.
O Jehovah O Jah, if errors were what you watch...who could stand. Not I, dear Sovereign, not I.