In quiet whispers of the past,
They lived in shadows, dreams amassed.
A father stern, with books in hand,
A mother gentle, soft as sand.
His fatherâs words, a distant call,
Echoed through the echoing hall.
Ideals and thoughts, a rigid frame,
Yet love remained, a silent flame.
His motherâs care, a tender grace,
Softened the edges of their place.
A nurturing heart, a guiding light,
In gentle moments, pure and bright.
Together they wove the fabric tight,
Of love and life, of day and night.
In Larkinâs verse, their shadows stay,
A timeless dance, a heartfelt play.