On the porch of Savannah
Published Date: November 18th, 2006As I prepare to go to the lit. fest at Forsyth Park today I wanted to stop and take a second to pay verbal tribute to one of my favorite things in Savannah; my front porch. I encourage you to add a verse or two, if you like!
Alone I sit
On a stoop made of rotten wood.
Its very planks I feel,
are left over from days of elegant men and women
parading through town.
The sun can’t find me yet.
It’s eyes are still blurred with the sleep of a nighttime fog.
Cold I sit
with my hand on rail made of old steel.
It’s sleekness and fabricate
remind me of the old coal car sitting idly by.
My coffee? Not hot enough.
My smoke? Not strong enough.
Yet I sit
breathing slowly of the pure air
that lingers with the tales of a lives gone by.
Their stories seep inside and
fill me with appreciation.
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