The Cycle Of Time

Seconds tick
Minutes run
Hours move
Days go forward
Months pass by
Year rolls away
In the flight of time
The cycle of time continues
as it flies to endlessness
Life goes on in its infinitisimal flow
We live, and then we die
We become dust
Collected into the ground
Like leaves in the trees we fall one by one in each season
In spring, summer, autumn and winter of our life
We are the fruits in the tree of life
Plucked by the reaper's hand
We are the crops harvested from the field of life by his sickle's compass
We are grains of sand collected by time in the shores of eternity