In a village bright, where bakers strive,Lived young Lisa, with dreams alive.Her pastries whispered, sweet and divine,Yet time slipped by like sand through a line.
Distracted by chatter, she let hours flee,While her oven waited, patient as could be.One day an elder, with wisdom to share,Entered the shop, with her silver hair.
“I’ve heard of your treats, but where are they now?”Lisa sighed softly, “I don’t know how!”The woman just smiled, her eyes full of light,“Time is like flour; it’s precious, my child.”
Inspired by words that rang forever true,Lisa found focus, her purpose now anew.She planned out her hours, with care and with grace,Baking and laughing, she found her own pace.
Soon, her delights became the village’s pride,Balanced and sweet, like the joy she felt inside.So remember, dear friends, as you chase for your prize,Time is like flour- without it, your dreams can’t rise.
Time- who waits for no one.
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