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,

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  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.