A couple sit hand in hand
On the porch swing.
Passions of morning
And heat of noon have faded.
He strokes her white hair
With misshapen fingers.
Wisps of white air-brush
Across cerulean canvas of sky.
Her face crinkles as she leans
Back, smiles up to him.
Air floats light and still as sleep;
Silent swallows glide by.
There is no need for words
They know Browning by heart.
Shadows merge, light grows dim,
Colors fade, birds settle.
They stand, she takes his arm
And they shuffle indoors.
Day turns to twilight.
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