Mama's Porch

Clouds rolled in on a Friday morn',

Thought I'd feel that chill till the day I'm gone,

Mama's voice echoed in the wind so strong,

Now her porch sits silent, I try to carry on.

Coffee on Sundays, stories by the fire,

Her gentle hands mending hearts and tires,

Empty chair sways from the flood and mire,

A piece of me lost when she reached the higher.

Oh, Mama, I feel you everywhere I roam,

In the rustling leaves, in the words of a simple poem,

Your love's still guiding me, whisper soft and low,

In this old town, where the memories grow.

Dad keeps her photograph by his bed,

Whispers to her like she’s never left,

Broken hearts heal, but never forget,

In that small house where our sorrow met.

Neighbors bring flowers, casseroles too,

Ain't nothin' they can say will see us through,

Her laughter's forever, in the morning dew,

We hold her in the stories, old and new.

Oh, Mama, I feel you everywhere I roam,

In the rustling leaves, in the words of a simple poem,

Your love's still guiding me, whisper soft and low,

In this old town, where the memories grow.