Sittin' on the porch with a glass of ice water,
flickin' at the bugs with a tattered flyswatter,
watchin' the ceiling fan turn.
My dog and I are dozin' in the shade;
man, I tell you we've got it made
and there's ice cream in the churn.
Sittin' on the porch with my fishin' pole,
'Bout to head off to my favorite hole;
all the work is done.
Soon it's goin' to be September;
when summer's gone, I'll still remember
these golden days of sun.
The last days of summer are fadin' away;
seems like it was yesterday
I was watchin' the fireflies play
tag with the stars on a night in May.
Crops will be ready any day --
fields of cotton, fields of hay;
wish those summer days could stay
but the last days of August are fadin' away.
Sittin' on the porch on a soft summer night,
my girl's beside me and I feel alright,
strummin' my guitar.
Coolin' down, a bit of breeze;
ask to kiss here and she agrees --
wished it on a star.
Stephen Brooke ©2007
A song (obviously?) -- not sure just where and how often I would repeat that refrain. Twice, at least, I reckon. Should have finished this a couple months ago, eh? Oh well, better late than never and October isn't a bad time to be looking back to the summer.