When a clock's tick

A clock sits on the wall Ticking away the hours, Counting down the moments Until the daylight sours. Its hands move steadily Marking time’s cruel sway, A constant reminder Of the end of the day. Each tick and each tock Echoes through the room, A rhythmic reminder Of impending gloom. But though the clock may tick And the minutes may pass, I’ll hold on to hope That the day will not be my last.