In shadows deep where whispers wend,
Time's dance begins, an endless trend.
With hands unseen yet ever keen,
It marks the moments, swift and lean.
Twelve brothers strong, in circle bound,
Each passing swiftly without sound.
A fleeting glimpse, a fleeting power,
What am I?
Choose wisely, let your intuition guide,
For in this riddle, truths abide.
Click on the correct answer.
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