Sweeper of time, the raven calls,

It's time to take me home.

But no home is sweeter than mine.

Sweeper of time, if age is but a number,

Why do these young bones ache?

Is it only a sleep away,

When does night become the day for owls?

Let me be old and gray,

To witness a new generation's dawn,

Their hopes unfurling like petals in the sun.

Fear not, sweeper of time,

For it is the unknown that beckons,

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

Where my mind dances on the edge of the stars.

Sweeter than sweets,

The ravens call,

A melody of memories and dreams.

When I'm old and gray,

May I be remembered for the laughter,

The tears, the love, and the battles fought.

And when the sweeper of times extends its hand,

I hope to stand ready,

To embrace the final equalizing breath.

For in that moment,

All stories merge,

And time itself becomes dust,

Scattered by the winds of eternity.