In the quiet dusk, she took her shower,

The evening hers, a fleeting hour,

A robe wrapped soft, around her frame,

The twilight's glow, a gentle flame.

She fed the dog, and stirred the pot,

The kitchen warm, the wine uncorked,

The scent of meals, a labor sweet,

She danced to an unhurried beat.

He walked in tired, from a long day’s grind,

A request made, not unkind,

“Take the dog out,” his voice did say,

She nodded, put her robe away.

Plates were set, a meal for two,

But she had things she had to do,

Changed her clothes, and took the lead,

Down the stairs, where shadows bleed.

The dog and her, a twilight stroll,

The evening air, a calming toll,

Returned to find, the food grown cold,

An empty chair, his nap now bold.

Her heart ached not, for she knew well,

The silent stories she could tell,

Of love’s small tasks, and quiet grace,

In every line upon her face.

She cleared the dishes, dimmed the light,

A day’s end, folding into night,

Their lives entwined, in mundane song,

A love that “worked”, and labored long.