Sea-green tapestries of paint unraveled before his eyes, though the smile remained the same. And for years he looked out onto the ocean, and watched over the children basking in the sun a forgotten memory of summer. But now the clouds have moved in, and the grey cement begins to show beneath his tired skin. No longer the Dorian that bronze glories knew remaining young all year, while the summer grew old. And he waits and waits for his moment of grandeur, when the children come back and yell and giggle at the site of him, 'til he welcomes them inside to the splendor that he held. But he is old now, and his eyes fade away distant. The young that once worshiped his beckoning grin will take him away and destroy his home and take his brothers and the sea-green tapestries will no longer stand. He is a memory a memory of youth a memory of love a memory of freedom.