Against the cruel hand of time we strive,
With fleeting moments, days and years gone by,
In Shakespeare’s verse, our memories survive,
A timeless echo of the past’s soft sigh.

The golden sun will set, the moon will rise,
Yet words in ink remain, forever bright,
In sonnets penned, the truth within them lies,
Defying age, they stand against the night.

Though time may steal our youth and vigor fair,
In written lines, our essence shall endure,
For Shakespeare’s quill has captured us with care,
And through his art, our spirits stay pure.

Thus, as the hours and minutes swiftly fly,
Remember, in his verses, we won’t die.