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The walls hold the laughter, the quiet, the grace,
The foundation of love in a tangible space.
A roof is the shelter that kept us from cold,
A hearth full of stories that never grow old.
Though rooms may be empty and furniture still,
The echoes of presence remain on the sill.
A doorway is never the end of the line,
But a threshold to peace in the softly spun time.
For the truest of homes is not built on the ground,
But inside the hearts where their spirit is found.
So rest in the comfort this shelter provides,
In the quiet rooms where their memory resides.
