In the grasp of time, a dance begins,
Red threads weave through the air.
A clock’s face glows, counting the spins,
As moments hang suspended there.
Entwined in fate’s unyielding grip,
A body sways in silent flight.
The hands of time, they never slip,
Capturing the soul in the night.
Each second ticks, a fleeting sigh,
A timeless pose, a fleeting show.
In the embrace of the clock’s high,
A dance with time, a love we know.
No. 05574