We believe the clock will never stop
Or the notebook to always be full,
The pen to always bleed new ink,
Lazy summer days to follow another.
Like babies in blanket warm
Without care or fear of the rain,
Laughter being our non-sustaining bread,
Soft, careless kisses our unfulfilling wine.
But all those promises grow cold
As new lines are drawn by time
And eyes bright are dimmed down
As the travelling sun begins to set.
So for our tick-tocking time here
To not be reliant only on sunbeams,
Let us hold hands, never let go
And grow old with grace and joy.
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