The Hands of Time

Time is an animal, swift in its flight,
Fleeing the day and escaping the night.

A horror lingers yet slips through our hands,
Shifting like shadows on sun-faded sands.

Moments seem endless, then vanish so fast,
A future once distant fades into the past.

Short is the season of youth’s fleeting grace,
Time leaves its mark on each line of our faces.

Yet in its passing, we learn, and we grow,
For time is the river, and we’re the flow.

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3 Words In A Poem writing prompt entry

Writing Prompt
Write a poem of any type. These three words must be included in the poem: animal - horror - short

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