Draft in the author’s style. This poem was written for Poet of Blossom to sit beside the author’s own readings, and is waiting for the author’s review. The commentary is a working draft too.
There is a creaking porch swing where an old couple sit at eve,
With their hands in one another's, and they have no need to leave.
Two canes are leaning by a cup of tea gone cold,
And they read the story of their years in wrinkles fine as gold.
They do not speak in paragraphs, a nod will do for all,
A squeeze of hand means, I am here, and every look means, call.
They have buried old companions and they have raised the young,
And the songs they hummed together are the songs the swing has sung.
When the porch light finally flickers and the stars begin to show,
They whisper, one more evening, and the swing goes to and fro.
I hope that we grow old like this, at ease and side by side,
With the world a little slower and our love a little wide.
Poet of Blossom · Hear it on the channel ↗
Commentary
This poem looks forward as much as back. It watches an old couple on a porch swing and asks whether the speaker and beloved will grow old in the same gentle way.
On “a creaking porch swing,” an old couple sits with “their hands in one another’s.” “Two canes are leaning by a cup of tea gone cold,” and they read their years “in wrinkles fine as gold.” They do not need many words, for “a nod will do for all.”
They have “buried old companions” and “raised the young,” and the songs they hummed are “the songs the swing has sung.” As the porch light flickers, they whisper, “one more evening.” The speaker then hopes “that we grow old like this, at ease and side by side.”