Hourglass
A fragile frame, of finest crystal spun,
Two globes of glass, where sands so softly run.
Time's fleeting flow, within this vessel bound,
A mirrored dance, of moments lost and found.
Each grain descends, a whispered, silent sigh,
As minutes melt, and hours swiftly fly.
The upper sphere, a promise soon to fade,
The lower swells, where ages are displayed.
With every shift, a subtle, gentle sway,
The sands descend, in melancholic play.
A poignant dance, of life's unyielding pace,
The hourglass holds, both beauty and disgrace.
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