The Porch

The porch, Columns of trees, holding the wainscoting ceiling for years; Reflects his strength. Wind now rips the bark from their bodies; As illness wore away his vigor. Tongue and grove floor laid lovingly, painstakingly fitting it to the round bark wall-boards; Mirroring the patience of guiding his children’s lives. Freeze and thaw, warps and splinters the boards away from the wall; Strong children move out on their own. Wine barrel table and chairs, Seats now weathered, torn and uncomfortable; The consummate host - his family and friends leave with laughter and peace. His aura lingered for a long time – Sometimes, even now. Yet once in a while – As time, like the wind stealing small pieces – It feels like the porch never was –