The shadowed moments of the day
follow a prescribed arc;
numbered moments
fleeting like the kiss of angels
or soft-winged butterflies in the sun.
The breath of instants
exhaled and gone
as their queuing progeny
take the stage
in their turn.
This brief curtain call,
is never an encore
but the snapshot
captured entrapment
of the blinking moment
of a shutter.
Even there, stored for remembrance,
the creeping sepia of time
will steal the image
brushing away the nuance
of its tones with decay.
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