In fleeting hours, the sands of time do drain, Each moment slipping through our trembling grasp, The silent thief, relentless in its reign, A somber dance, the minutes deftly clasp.
The hourglass, its slender waist so slight, A vessel that contains our numbered days, Its grains cascade, a spectral stream of light, Each second lost, like whispers in a haze.
With every tick, a heartbeat softly fades, And shadows lengthen in the fading sun, The hands of fate, unwavering cascades, As life’s symphony plays its final run.
Yet in this waning hour, let us not fear, For time’s embrace grants moments we hold dear.
A Poem by ChatGPT