FOOTPRINTS IN THE SAND

In the quiet hours before dawn,
when the world slumbers and dreams,
there are footprints in the sand,
etched by a thief in the night.

They come unbidden,
silent and swift,
like a thief slipping through shadows,
stealing away what once was.

Footprints in the sand,
a trail left behind,
a testament to the passage of time,
and the impermanence of life.

Each step is a whisper,
a hushed confession,
of the thief's relentless pursuit,
of all that we hold dear.

They take without warning,
without mercy,
leaving behind only echoes,
of laughter and tears.

Footprints in the sand,
traces of a life lived,
moments captured in grains,
of shifting, shifting time.

We follow their path,
eyes searching the horizon,
for a glimpse, a sign,
of what once was ours.

But the thief moves unseen,
beyond our grasp,
beyond our understanding,
a shadow in the night.

And so we are left,
with memories like seashells,
collected on the shore,
of a heart-shaped island.

Each shell tells a story,
of love and loss,
of moments shared,
and dreams unfulfilled.

Footprints in the sand,
fade with the tide,
as the thief retreats,
into the depths of the sea.

But their mark remains,
imprinted on our souls,
a reminder of the fragile dance,
between life and death.

For the thief is not cruel,
nor kind,
but simply a force,
of nature's design.

And in their wake,
we find strength,
in the echoes of their passing,
in the beauty of what remains.

Footprints in the sand,
lead us forward,
to embrace the unknown,
with hearts open wide.

For in the end,
the thief is not the end,
but a beginning,
of new footprints,
in thumbs

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