Come and Sit
He would sit on his porch on mild evenings and always
Sing the same song. His was a voice rasped by a lifetime of Marlboros
But there was something about hearing Red River Valley
After the madness of the day that eased me, like church used to when I was a boy.
So I would sit on my porch and he would sing next door and I
Would weep in the sweet dusk for the ones I should have loved better but did not.
His hymn drew my sorrows out and slowly, service by service,
I bid despair adieu and found fond hope to try at love again.
Thank you for the tender word picture…
Philp Glass has said that “music is a place”. Your neighbor took you there.
It’s remarkable what music can do, especially music sung from living. Thank you, John.
That melancholy tune.
Resolved today to “sit by the side” of my loved people. What a simple, sweet way to say love.
I remember learning that song as a child in elementary school. I believe I’ll be humming it all day. Your words paint the most vivid pictures.