In the hush of another afternoon’s glow,
An orange gate stands, a memory’s echo.
Once opened wide, now firmly closed,
A rural tale, in silence posed.
The sun casts shadows, long and lean,
On the rustic path, a tranquil scene.
The house stands empty, the owner gone,
Yet the gate remains, a legacy drawn.
It whispers stories of laughter and tears,
Of shared moments, of hopes and fears.
Though distanced by time, by life’s swift tide,
In the orange gate, these memories reside.
So stands the gate, under the sun’s gentle ray,
A silent witness to another day.