In the quiet room, the clock softly ticks,
Its hands move steadily, never to mix.
Marking moments that silently fly,
Under its watchful, unblinking eye.

Each tick a whisper, a gentle chime,
Singing the endless passage of time.
Seconds dance in an eternal race,
Tracing the lines of life’s fleeting grace.

With patient grace, it counts the hours,
Woven into the tapestry of life’s powers.
In its rhythm, stories unfold,
Of love and loss, brave and bold.

Yet in its song, a silent plea,
To live each moment, wild and free.
For though the clock will never rest,
It’s life’s sweet moments we cherish best.