The sun has beat down on
and faded the sparkling coat of twitter paint.
Storms have torn at the roof
and thrown the loose shingles away.
The house is strong though.

The porch swing stands out,
bright white against the faded panels of the house.
Initials carved decades ago,
still fresh in the arm of the swing,
carry the life of the house.
Jokes and Laughter can still be heard
from the windows at night.
Joy and Love lie in the flowered letters of the doormat,
placed there the day they moved
into the house, years ago.

The evening sun reflects bright orange off the ivy
decorating the rail around the porch.
They have relished the sunset together each day.
The old man takes his wife’s hand
and sets it on his knee.
They rock in the swing.
He traces the initials with her finger
and smiles at her.
She brushes silver strands from his forehead
and caresses the back of his neck.
Looking at the initials still fresh in the armrest
warms her.

The disappearing sun slowly leaves its sherbet trail
to twilight.