Banjo chrome in summer headlights
As the distant country road gently hums
Until no longer are we aware of how the road lies and runs
Consumed by the porch music moment, the gentle cricket night.
A sprightly toe tap, the knowing wink,
The smiling boy who will lead the way
With a strum and a whisper he begins to play
As the fiddle and the harp consider their link.
The dark growing deeper beyond-the porch step
As the light draws inward with each passing refrain,
The center of the world for the present maintained
So long as the rhythmic exchange is well kept.
So long as this endless evening sigh is placed
In harmony so sweetly in the air, tenderly felt,
Laughingly given forth as memory melts,
Recalling life's path, otherwise so certain erased.
If not once in a while a gentle toe taps
To a heartfelt remembrance of other times
For better or worse, and in at least a little rhyme,
Fiddle under chin, dobro steady in his lap,
Vibrating as the evening air hums,
And never mind, the sun certainly shall rise
Come morning when the crickets and the flies
Disappear, the country road off distant still runs.
© Celeste Plowden 2010