The clock ticks soft, the moments fade,
Like whispers lost in evening shade.
Each second slips through fingers thin,
A silent song that draws us in.
The days grow short, the nights extend,
As time begins its quiet bend.
No hand can hold, no eye can stay,
The fleeting hours that pass away.
Memories like autumn leaves,
Drift on winds, the heart believes.
That though the years may slip and stray,
Their echoes in our souls will stay.
So let the time pass, slow or fast,
For every breath could be the last.
Embrace the now, the here, the day—
Before the time must pass away.