A Porch Swing's Tale
A Porch Swing's Tale
The sun hangs low, a bruised peach in the sky
my old boots are caked with the red dust of a journey I never started
three
This here porch swing rocks on, steady and slow
but my soul feels like it's caught between the back porch and the front gate
somewhere between a hello and a goodbye, a solid six
And the cricket's song ain't a happy one, it's a lonesome, weary sigh
I'm stuck in the middle, still waiting for the rain to wash the road clean
This ain't a home, but it's not the open road either. It's just a place.
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