In the house of weeks, the clocks don't tick, they hum, and time flows like a melody, a song that's never done. The weeks come and go, like seasons in the year, and time, the great composer, arranges them with care and cheer. The past and future merge, like dreams in a sleepy haze, while the present slips away, like a breeze on summer days. The house of weeks is a mansion, a palace of endless grace, where time paints its masterpiece, a canvas of time and space. And yet, in the midst of grandeur, there is a gentle ease, a moment of pure pleasure, a feeling of perfect peace. So let us savor the weeks, and enjoy each passing day, for in the house of weeks, there is a beauty that's here to stay.