Memento Tempus, Memento Vivere, Memento Mori

Of bone and copper, a dial that shudders, Where the moment ebbs in a frigid strife; ’Tis the Tempus turning, heavy and unyielding, Toward the final Mori, the silence of life.

Yet mark the lavender, in its velvet shroud, Near the hollow void where wisdom used to be; It is the urgent Vivere, a love unbowed, A vital pulse, a fragile epiphany.

In this timeless garden, as the light grows dim, Death is but a pinion, a clockwork whim; To breathe amidst the bloom, ’neath a cinnabar fire, Before the inner metal halts our last desire.