Cycles of Cleaning

The sun spills in through windows wide,

a fresh scent of detergent, I can't hide.

My clothes spin round like dreams anew,

a chance meeting stirs the air, like morning dew.

Old friends exchange smiles between the folds,

words tumble out, stories waiting to be told.

Beneath the hum of machines, a kind of grace,

we stand like ghosts in this familiar space.

Spring whispers through the open pane,

we laugh and remember the lives that remain.

Each cycle brings warmth, like memories held dear,

a reminder to cherish the moments right here.