Old Porch Swing/Tamara Hillman

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Some folks might say – about our swing,

"It’s just an old and rusting thing,"

but I remember all the ways

that old porch swing would fill our days

Upon that swing now hanging still,

moon rising o’er the distant hill,

Mama rested – sipping tea,

and sang sweet lullabies to me

With silent rocking, dreams were sough

on summer days when it was hot,

games we played while resting there,

chess and checkers moved on squares

Women gathered ‘round the swing'

to share the latest gossiping,

while sewing patches on our jeans,

or maybe popping garden beans

Men returning from the field

would wait there for the evening meal,

at end of day – their work complete,

old Rex, our dog, lay at their feet

Granny, sometimes shedding tears,

recalling friends lost through the years,

would pass the hours on our porch

swinging gently back and forth

We courted on that creaking swing,

first love softly blossoming,

sneaking kisses in the night

veiled in shadows of moonlight

Worn and weathered that old seat

has served us well – its use replete,

we now rock babes with curly hair,

soothing them with loving care

Remembering yet those days of old,

in summer heat or winter cold,

how we chanced to tarry there

making memories we could share.

Tamara Hillman

2008

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