Porch Serenade

Early Morning after a night rain
Wrapped in robe and blankets
Swaying on the porch swing

The Mocking Bird yaps from the closest tree
How many languages?
Another bird then, like me, knows only one

Faint gobbling of wild turkeys in a distant forrest
Other birds too and then a lull
Dueling drips from the porch roof join the chorus

Little Gray scratching the porch woodpile
Brings the memory of a cigar banjo twang
Then offers another pitch from a twig batted along the porch

I try to ignore the early flights that cross the sky
The lumber mill starting up
Really? another plane?

Ah, back to mourning dove's forlorn cry
Moos of neighbor cattle
And the dueling drops have now become a symphony