clock

The clock’s small hands, they slowly spin,
A minute ends, another begins.
The hourglass, its sands do flow,
Marking moments we all know.
At dawn, the world wakes up to light,
At noon, the sun is at its height.
By dusk, the sky turns shades of gray,
And midnight ushers the next day.
The calendar speaks of weeks to come,
The past is gone, the future’s hum.
Each season fades, from warm to cold,
The story of time that’s gently told.
Tripsteps helps me learn the way,
From daily plans to time’s array.
With every tick and every chime,
I master words that measure time.