Thursday, February 20, 2025

Stop The Clock

Time slips past like a fleeting breeze,

Whispering secrets through rustling trees.

One blink, the morning fades to noon,

Another, and night swallows the moon.


Yesterday lingers, a shadowed trace,

Yet tomorrow arrives in a breathless race.

The clock hands spin, they never wait,

Turning moments to memories far too late.


Laughter echoes, then drifts away,

Children grow and hair turns gray.

Seasons shift in a hurried stream,

Like waking up from a fleeting dream.


Oh, slow the clock, let moments stay,

Let golden hours not fade away.

Yet time moves on, both kind and cruel,

A rushing tide we cannot rule.


Stop the clock,

Ky Baker

Indiana FFA State Treasurer

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