I find him on the porch,
frame stooped, cobbled by years
of loss and melancholic memories.
Eyes dimmed, he turns within—
hears the music of birdsong,
inhales the scent of lavender,
tastes the sweetness of this moment
when friends stop by,
and hug him.
Linked to dVerse Quadrille Monday where De asks us for a poem of exactly 44 words, excluding title. The word of the week is COBBLE or any of its forms. Join us and have fun.