We are no longer children; our seasons have grown.
Our tender love has ripened, burnished into gold.
The chairs wait for us—we should rest sitting down.
We met in school, where laughter like sunlight shone.
Through years of toil, the hearth grew dim and cold.
We are no longer children; our seasons have grown.
After college I proposed; you said yes, you were my own.
Our children now departed, yet we remain bold.
The porch calls to us—we should rest sitting down.
The leaving was foretold, though we should have known.
The body tires, the spirit bends with age untold.
Still, wisdom whispers: our seasons have grown.
We are not abandoned; the dusk is gently shown.
The garden hums with crickets, stories retold.
The twilight soothes us—we should rest sitting down.
Greed and stone hearts have left us to stand alone.
Even the house was taken, its walls once strong and old.
Yet we are no longer children; our seasons have grown.
The night enfolds us—we should rest sitting down.
