Folklore

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The 'porch' was...'social center'
For all who came our way;
We'd meet there first...then go inside
To pass the time of day...
Or maybe we'd 'jest set a spell'
Upon that old oak swing...
Feel pleasant breezes on our face...
Or hear a robin sing!

A bucket of...spring water,
A gourd to dip it out...
It's also what we drank from...
(Togetherness...no doubt!)
A dishpan full of apples
Was always close at hand
To peel and eat...they must have been
The sweetest in the land!

On Sundays after 'dinner'
We'd pull the chairs around;
While old folks sat, the younger ones
Were rolling on the ground.
Then from...somewhere...a guitar came
We'd all join in and sing,
And in those precious times...I heard
The Bells of Heaven ring!

The porch is gone...and so are most
Who gathered all around;
In fact...scant few of us remain
Who tussled on the ground.
But God remembers...such fine days...
My heart burned...as a torch!
I hope the Mansion He prepares
Will have a spacious porch!

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