Spring of ‘72

In the spring of ‘72

we sat on the porch

of the old farmhouse,

in the warm sunlight

as the lilacs bloomed

their scent drifting

on a gentle breeze

talking

about the future

children, maybe

a nice house

a life lived together

both promising

we would grow old

together

our hearts bound

by a lifetime of love,

now we are old

sitting on the porch

gazing into a future

still filled with promise

of the love we share

as the sun sets slowly

on these closing days

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