Here lies a home with the familiar fade
of history worth a thousand days.
And in the wind through rusted arbors of palms and pine,
dwindles hints of oak tree and thyme.
Their leafy canopies stare at relics of the past
That have since turned to ash,
and in the warn ring of laughter’s old hymn,
They relish at the sheer view of summer grins-
Ah, how they smile at the aged thought.
Now, it’s no longer familiar and left with rot.
But still their bows dwell in the the memory
of watching young children in their playing
with a fondness in their gaze,
By staring at stones in empty grass plains.
Under a new family’s name.