In the rush of fleeting light, Words tumble, eager and bright. With each tick, a thought takes flight, So much to rhyme in the dwindling night.
Minutes meld into a swift stream, Ideas chase the tail of a dream. Across the page, under starlit gleam, Verses flow, a poetic scheme.
A clock’s hands dance, they twist and twine, In the echo of the old church chime. Yet in this brief moment, thoughts align, So much to rhyme with such little time.
Each syllable, a step, a climb, Up the steep face of a rhyme sublime. Hurry, hurry, while the muses mime, Quick, capture the verse before the end of time.
