In Shakespeare’s verse, time weaves its tale,
A relentless march, both fierce and frail.
Through sonnets penned, its whispers cry,
Of fleeting youth and moments that fly.

The sun, a witness to love’s sweet bloom,
Yet shadows fall, casting gentle gloom.
In every tick, life’s fleeting chance,
A waltz with time, an endless dance.

Yet in his words, eternity stays,
Capturing beauty that never decays.
For even as the years swiftly glide,
In sonnets, time and love abide.

So let us read, and in reading, find,
The timeless echoes of a brilliant mind.
In Shakespeare’s rhythm, time stands still,
Enchanted by his poetic will.