The Porch (When Seasons Change) Poem by Bryan Taplits

The Summer's heat that pelts the grass
and left it crusty brown,
Did not suppress or try to mess
the porch's spring-like stalwart form.
She gaily flaunted a teasing lure
For all to see her sway,
Her rocking couch
Her mocking slouch
So that all would flounce her way.

But autumn came and soon the porch
was swathed with wayward leaves,
No longer did it flirt nor even cast
her eyes upon the eaves.
As summer went it grew a bit
And now was more assured,
Much less a gaudy baby girl-
Now grown a bit mature.

Then winter's force encamped
its white, with snow flakes flying through,
The screens once so unassailable
Thru which the snowflakes flew.
Like a carcass that creaked and screeched
The porch quaked her shivering sides,
One would think-
with all the hulabaloo she made
when she shuddered-
she really was alive.
'Ah just a few more months'-
she hoped and croaked-
as she groped and moaned to survive.

But then came Spring and the past
was all but forgotten with joy-
And the porch she stretched her joists.
And beams that that once shook
With trembling and frigid looks
Snuggled
Towards a now
placid and comfortable nook.
One almost heard her sigh of peace
As she shivered once again-
But this with a more mellifluous voice
Now that the winter
had wound to its end.

And so The Porch endured
through winter's
hardened character,
No more was
she childish and coy
But a terrace that seemed
much fairer.
And so are we as the seasons flow
When a new season unexpectedly
switches lanes-
Thus does she flow and and so does she go
-as we do also-:
Whenever seasons change.