The virtue of time is deception,
In the blink of an eye, 
We become aging intellects;
Dwelling in an old body,
With a heart full of youth,
Time, being a naught kid,
Calls us synonyms of responsibility.

That now very moment, 
Becomes the then passed time;
The time that was potent,
Has left it's ugly chime
Teaching the art of carpe diem. 
Regret becomes the anthem,
"Time" tagging along like a grim.

The hour ticks, passing decades together,
A phase that urges to fight or surrender.
Each hour, each minute, each second passes 
Like the sweet Mayfly;
The coldness of the season,
The warmth of the sun,
The tears of the sky,
Speed up their way into the land. 

Time, as a father, gives strength,
Time, as a mother, heals the wounds,
Time becomes your friend.
An age-old reason becomes new,
The embryo of the present becomes the past, 
Worrying for the day that might not arrive.

Time, the most easily accessible tool,
A diamond or a stone, matters.

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