Time slips through fingers, soft as air, A fleeing whisper, unaware. It moves as rivers, swift and deep, A flow continual, no sleep, no keep. Each second runs, not staying still, Chasing moments according to time's will. It races forward, leaves behind The echoes of a fleeting mind. The past is gone, the future calls, A dance of shadows on the walls. We grasp at moments, try to hold, Yet time, like sand, escapes our fold. It bends and twists, it fades and grows, In its embrace, nobody knows. A friend, a foe, a silent guide, It marches on, it cannot hide. In each and every tick-a life is spun, From the first light of dawn till sun sets. An endless circle, never done, Time carves us all, but is none. We pursue it, still it waits for none, The race is lost ere ever won. Still we are running, still we strive, For in its current we come alive.
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