Another one of life's simplest but greatest pleasures is sitting on our porch swing. I think
Tamara Dicus Hillman explains it beautifully in her poem. She writes:
----Old Porch Swing----
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.
