A Sonnet to Time

O fleeting Time, thou art a fickle guide, Thy steady march no mortal hand can stay. In shadows deep, thy secrets oft do hide, While dreams of youth like morning mist decay. Thy hands do weave the fabric of our days, Each thread a moment, fragile, yet profound. Thou steal'st our joys in thy unyielding ways, Yet in thy loss, sweet wisdom can be found. O sovereign Time, dost thou no mercy show? Thy endless tide doth all we cherish claim. Yet through thy flow, our hearts and spirits grow, Transforming grief to strength within thy flame. Though thou art cruel, thy purpose we revere, For through thy trials, our truths become clear.