The hands of a clock, artists sketching the outlines of destiny
Patiently, they move in perfect sync, shaping moments with such clemency
Ticking and tocking, they weave tales of birth and demise
In their silent dance, the past, present, and future harmonize
Each hour, a canvas upon which the minutes gently paint
With strokes precise, they craft each day without constraint
Sunrise to sunset, the clock’s hands guide the rhythm of life
A symphony of seconds, each note sung without strife
They measure our days, marking the passage of fleeting time
The hands of a clock, an eternal chime
They echo the heartbeat of existence, a relentless beat
Yet in their movement, we find both solace and defeat
The seconds slip through our fingers, a reminder of mortality
But within their confines, we seek moments of vitality
For in the dance of the clock’s hands, we find our own refrain
A melody of resilience, amid joy and pain
The hands of a clock, tethered to the cycle of celestial sphere
Their motion unyielding, yet a symbol of the transient here
In their tireless journey, they embody our shared destiny
The hands of a clock, ticking in perfect symphony