Ode to a Porch Swing
So many hours spent;
in the place I love the most.
The porch swing
with it’s plush, padded seat.
Memories of dragging
pillows outside,
and laying back, swinging gently.
Reading a book about pirates,
as the chair rocks
back and forth
like the ships in the stories.
It’s always there;
when the yellowed leaves
sail into it’s seat,
when the snow ices the surface
like frosting on a cake.
When the world gives birth
once again to endless
flowers and fruits,
when the summer rain
slowly washes away
the color from the swing’s
fragile skin.
And I’m always there,
watching the world sideways;
watching as though
the Earth sways softly
and I’m staying still
in the place I love the most.
Gender:
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