A spectacle of dust in the bigger plot

A breath of life, a brief display, We claim the crown, we rule the day. We build our towers, thick and tall, And think ourselves above it all. But time, the quiet, patient king, Unravels every earthly thing.

With steady hands, it turns the page, And humbles king, and fool, and sage. For in the grand, unfolding plot,The wealth we chase is soon forgot. A flash of light, a sudden gust—We are but spectacles of dust