From My Porch Swing

The View From My Porch Swing
Laddie – 2002
Through the years I’ve watched our trees that never seem to change.
Across the road, where once our sons and neighbor children came to play on stubby fields of meadow grass, there grow trees and underbrush so high no pathways show.
Even now, those boys and girls seem ever young. My thoughts are filled with
visions of them playing there.
Hidden there midst Oak and Pine, in memory, there lies an open meadow. 

Joyful youth played games on long, 
hot summer  days in full pursuit of life.
Those days and sights and sounds of living never left my inner soul.
 Returning to this quiet place,
 from the porch swing I relive those treasured days of years gone by.
Gently swinging, deep in thought, memories return.
 I recall each day with love.
The day begins at summer’s dawn and ends
 with muffled, evening sounds.
Nothing troubles, thoughts abound, and peace is found.
Now fifty-eight short years have passed and memories remain.
Our porch is now a deck.
 The swing remains a “porch swing.” 
“Deck swing” somehow cannot recall 
those precious times of years gone by.
Three sons have grown to men.
 Two grandchildren have added to the enjoyment of this peaceful homestead. The barn is now one hundred years old and the house is eighty.
 In addition to our three boys and two grandchildren,
 this homestead has raised many animals and pets and gardens.
The neighbor kids have grown. 
They now have children and grandchildren of their own.
Our son, Tim, has died. 
Even so, family love and cherished memories can never change.
The porch swing now provides a peaceful place
 to remember all the times of joy and sadness.

 We were sitting on the porch swing 
when the news of my Father’s death came to us.
 We gathered here as a family
 to enjoy the wedding receptions of our sons,
 and to celebrate
 their high-school graduations.
We’ve entertained our friends at church picnics. We celebrated birthday parties.
 Friends of our grown children 
have come to share an occasional Sunday afternoon.
Memories are many, from the porch swing.