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Dreams From The Wood Porch
A stirring, of rust colored leaves, rise ethereal with clay dust, as the girl child dances under the hazy sun of the afternoon heat.
Not yet an Angel, gold dipped in sin and prayer; her tinkling laughter is matched by the cicada drone, that beats with hypnotic fervor.
He rocks back and forth ceremoniously on the old porch with solemn and careful watching-
The evening damp strangles and descends the smoke clouded mist from the old man’s pipe, as a whippoorwill hurriedly cuts through the last lazy moment of heat, from the celestial terrace.
He waits in the gathering dark for her to come in, as she moves steadfast and barefoot toward the tall blistered, wood porch.
Laced with secret and smiling, she will lay with thought dreams bathed clean… in star shine.
By- Tommie Flannery Baskis (c.) 2017
Very, Very nice…I can feel your writing…soooo nice
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Thank you Steve! Glad you enjoyed. Words are powerful-
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