A Life Well-Lived

From rooms where afternoon light once fell just so,

Where paintings watched the seasons turn,

A life unfolded in the gentle hush of chosen things.

Glasses waited for laughter and wine,

Chairs held the shape of long conversations,

Bronze figures kept their quiet vigil on the mantel,

Shadows of hands that once dusted them with care.

There was time here—

Time to linger over coffee in fine cups,

To trace the grain of polished wood,

To turn a small object in the palm

Until it became a memory.

On the walls, the hum of color and line;

On the shelves, the weight of crystal and clay;

On the desk, a model car paused mid‑journey,

The echo of open roads and engines humming.

This was a life of rarified moments,

Of beauty chosen, not hurried past—

A life that left behind no monuments,

Only beloved things,

And the soft, enduring proof

That joy once lived here, daily,

In the simple act of looking, touching,

And quietly, fully, being.