Upon this stage where minutes swiftly glide,
The fleeting hours dance in endless flight,
As sands of time in glassy vessels bide,
Their whispers echo through the veil of night.

In Shakespeare’s verse, the clock forever tolls,
Each tick a sonnet penned by fate’s own hand,
A tapestry where youth and age unrolls,
Woven in threads of gold and shifting sand.

Yet in these lines, immortal words entwine,
Defying time’s unyielding, ceaseless sway,
A testament where love and art define,
The beauty time cannot erode away.

So let us cherish every fleeting day,
As Shakespeare’s muse with timeless grace does sing,
For though the years may come and pass away,
In memory and verse, forever spring.