OLD PORCH

by  Gwen Austin

Copyright 1998


Another dreaded winter alone,
for my house-closers have gone
until a spring day
when my house-openers appear.

How I long for summer days
that used to be,
when my house
was filled to the brim
with laughter and tears
of my family therein.

Oh, the shouts of delight
when first they alight
after long hours in the car.

"Is old toad still there
under the stoop?"
That's what my eldest girl yells,
and my wooden heart swells

"Has the swallow nested yet
on the porch beam?"
My middle girl sets my heart atwirl.

"It's my turn to make the fire."
My youngest, a cub scout,
gives that shout.

I grin at the longed-for "Whoppie"
bursting forth
from my Preacher's inner-most being.

"On the porch I must get,
for it's almost sunset."
That's my Mrs.
who sets a spell,
then keeps me clean
from floor to beam.

All too soon
my Preacher must return
to his flock,
several hours drive away,
for it's only in August
he can come to stay.

My life seems complete
when the sun does not compete.
For it's on rainy days
my children play store
on my stone pillars, rails and floor.

How oft my rails
become each child's
trusty steed,
as cowboys and Indians
they trail.

My best is eventide
when to me each is hied
in time for the show
I try to provide.
Sometimes all is still,
'tho oft gentle wind
proffers a chill.

Now sweatered, my family does linger
after glorious sunset's last finger
fades into darkness anew.
When heavenly and 'housely' stars appear,
I feel peace is near.

Hidden whip-poor-wills call,
lonesome train whistles
beckon to all
and bid them 'Good night.'

Lonely again 'til morning time,
I watch over this family of mine.

I shudder and shake
when under my floor
my family makes ready
for cold weather.
Under me they toss firewood
to be stacked
before being carried inside
and log-racked.

All too soon,
I get one last sweep
before rocking chairs
are stored over-turned.

On that fateful fall day,
oh, how I weep
when that final click I hear
of the door-latch key
rasping 'winter is near.'