“The beauty of Time”

Time drifts softly—river, sand,  
A whisper winding through the land,  
In dawning light, in evening shade,  
In golden hour and night’s cascade.  

She weaves the silver through our hair,  
Bestows the lines that life prepares,  
Unfurls the petals, folds the wings,  
Cracks autumn’s shell for hope of spring.  

When young, she dances, light and fleet,  
With laughter tumbling at her feet;  
Yet slow she moves when hearts are sore,  
When longing waits outside the door.  

She turns the seeds beneath the earth,  
And tends the roots for hidden worth;  
She softens grief with memory’s balm,  
Transmutes old wrath to quiet calm.  

Oh, beauty found in change and loss,  
In wisdom earned, in bridge we cross—  
She’s starlight sparking in the dusk,  
The sigh between the now and must.  

So let us greet each passing phase,  
Not mourn the dusk, nor flee the blaze;  
For Time, in gentle, tireless art,  
Unfolds the beauty of the heart.

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