In the quiet hours before dawn breaks,
Time whispers secrets to the night,
A dance of moments, fleeting and frail,
Like shadows chasing the morning light.

Each second, a pearl on an endless string,
Slipping through fingers, soft and unseen,
Memories woven in a tapestry of dreams,
Lost in the river of what has been.

The clock’s hands march with resolute grace,
Unfazed by the laughter or the tears,
A silent witness to our fleeting days,
Etching stories in the sands of years.

Yet in its flow, there’s a gentle embrace,
A promise that every end is a new start,
Time, the eternal artist, painting life’s face,
With strokes of love, sorrow, joy, and heart.