I sit on my porch in the mountains,
Smelling the fresh breeze as it rustles,
All but silently,
My chores dun.
You’ll find me rocking,
Joe in the morning,
Noon, sweet tea and a mater samich,
A brew at night.
My Winter’s coming.
Don’t wanna miss it!”
Author’s Note: The poem forebodes the old feller, his life “chores dun,” rocking on the porch, not wanting to miss his death?
Poet Laureate of My Domain