Porch Conversations

The sun dips low, spilling warm confessions,

I sit on this porch, lost in reflections.

My neighbor laughs, leaning on the rail,

a cup in hand, a warm autumn trail.

Chipped paint tells stories, the wood creaks slow,

each laugh a thread in the fabric we sew.

Old memories linger, the air heavy with sighs,

while light weaves around us, as daylight dies.