Porch sitting in the waning year,
Listening to the music of the breeze in trees,
Savoring the last high rays of sunshine,
Wisps of warmth left in the air.
There is nothing quite like the porch swing:
Gathering place and quiet spot.
Reading, thinking, swinging,
Passing the remaining time before all must be
Covered, put away for the coming cold.
Lazy days and clear fall nights,
No need for a porch light-only the harvest moon.