The Old Front Porch
Timber bones moan and mumble
The creaks each old plank familiar makes
Every step back a memory humble
Wakes the spirit of this home and lets it tremble
Ignoring me, phantom kids run outside to play
Past this dog august in my remembrance
And clearly I can hear our mother say
"You children come back in here this instance"
Beneath my feet thistles homestead under shadow's song
Filling every dark place with something that's living
And doorways cling with screens barely holding on
Dead doornails and aching hinges, I can almost hear them thinking
Or, the ticking of the clock; acorns hitting upon a hot tin roof
Guts of gutters swinging under torn shingle grooves
Boy, it seems like nature has a thing or two to prove
As it slowly takes my childhood away, even if I refuse
Still, the rain barrels guard her from every corner
Spilling over with ancient emerald green
Holding together all my boyhood dreams, and getting warmer
Are the days in fondness of long ago, when from this porch I anything could believe
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