In the house of years, the clocks don't tick, they toll, and time flows like a river, with a rhythm that takes its toll. The years roll on and on, like a train that never stops, and time, the great architect, builds the future from the past's props. The past and future intertwine, like vines on a trellis of life, while the present slips away, like a bird in mid-flight. The house of years is a fortress, a stronghold of memories and hope, where time weaves its grand design, a tapestry of triumph and woe. And yet, in the midst of grandeur, there is a silent depth, a moment of pure introspection, a hint of what lies ahead. So let us cherish the years, and live them to the fullest, for in the house of years, there is a beauty that is endless.