In a room where memories reside,
A clock stands tall, with a gentle pride,
Its face a canvas, of numbers and hands,
A keeper of secrets, in this timeless land.
Its tick-tock heartbeat, a soothing sound,
Echoes through years, without a bound,
Marking moments, lost in the past,
Yet still present, forever to last.
The room around, a testament to time,
Faded grandeur, in a nostalgic rhyme,
Peeling paint, and creaking floor,
A story unfolding, evermore.
The clock’s steady pulse, a reassuring beat,
A reminder of moments, we can’t repeat,
A symbol of hours, we’ve lived and loved,
A guardian of memories, sent from above.
In this old room, where shadows play,
The clock stands watch, night and day,
A sentinel of time, a witness true,
A keeper of memories, old and new.
