Sitting on the front porch, sitting in the swing,
Sitting on the front porch, bored as could be.
Saturday and supper is over,
Boy am I bored.


Only a few coins in my pocket,
Not much do I have,
Only a little money,
So no big night can I have.


Get my hat and whistle for the dog,
Start walking toward town
With my few coins a-jingling,
Kicking rocks and just a-looking.


Then I smile as at Mrs. Johnson’s house I look.
There on the front door is an autumn wreath.
I stop and at it look, as my smile widens,
For she has used garden stuff to herself make this wreath.


Just then the door does open,
And I doff my hat and say,
“Just admiring your wreath,”
And at me she does smile.


Well we chat a while and then I say,
“Care to a walk take with me,
Care to enjoy the warm autumn evening,
Care to stretch your legs?”


She gets her shawl and pets the dog
As we walk along.
Boy she points out things,
I have never seen.


She says the wreath is because
She is hostess to a bible study group,
Says that is the only decoration
She has to welcome them to her home.


We walk and chat, a slowly walking,
As we do return to her home.
I stop at the gate and thank her much
As a very enjoyable Saturday evening I have had.


As I went on home, I could hear the neighbors talking,
'History-in-the-making' it was,
Me an ex-con and that 80 year old lady a-walking,
And I got back home with my few coins still a-jingling.

An autumn wreath hung on the front door of the neat cottage at the end of Main Street, but nothing could change her feelings for Jess, even though his family was poor.
Amara was quiet this morning and bearing her burden with dignity and a demeanor of discreet affection for the boy next door.



The bracelet of foreign coins that he gave her before he deployed lay in front of her shining in the sun from the window pane.
Tension filled her face as she welled up in silence, and even though the sun was shining, it felt like rain.



She had received a post card from one of his buddies the day before.
It gave her hope, and her spirit did soar.



She went outside and sat on the porch swing looking at his little brother playing in the yard with their dog Buster.
Amara wanted to talk to his Mother, but had to her courage muster.



Mrs. Thompson was making some breakfast in her kitchen when Amara timidly knocked on her back door.
The lady of the house was a good hostess and offered her coffee, which she did pour.



This was history in the making as Amara started to speak; Mrs. Thompson listened as Amara expressed her feelings for Jess in a manor that was quite meek.
Amara had recently come to live on Main Street from her native Iraq, and Jess was born right there on Main Street to a family that loved him with a love that only a Mother could know, And Amara's declaration of love for Jess was quite a blow.



Jess was off fighting in Iraq, and Amara was living a peaceful life right next door.
Mrs. Thompson was not prejudice, but her feelings had to explore.



Amara was a beautiful girl with a lovely smile,
But Mrs. Thompson would have to think on this for a while.

It was "History in the Making"
This news event in Tiny Town, U.S.A.
A UFO was spotted above,
An absolute truth, so they say!


A host and hostess had to be named
To greet those thousands of visitors
To Tiny Town's minutes of fame
As well as those media inquisitors.


Coins were clinking in the parking meters
Money to be made, money to lend,
Placards with arrows to the city square,
The whole world's about to descend.


Autumn wreaths decorated all front doors,
Crisp weather held up for the week,
Anticipation quivered, pallets on yards,
Every hotel and bedroom rented for the week.


But not old man Herman, he'd seen it all,
And thought they'd had too much to drink,
He'd just put on his dungarees,
Rock on his front porch swing and think.


Come to find out old Herman was right,
Not night or morning did a UFO come,
It was only old man Johnson's dish high up on the hill,
Spinnin' in the wind of a twilight sun.


Goes to show what a little hysteria will do,
New picture postcard sales went into a dive.
Old Herman thinks and observes his fellow man,
Deflated, tired, and he's very alive.


Still, there's a secret only Herman knows,
There's a reason for his long curly toes,
Back in the 80s he landed in Tiny Town,
He'd arrived himself on one of them UFOs.

The invitation arrived the other day.
On a postcard from across the bay.
"Your Hostess is waiting to hear from you."
Sally Plunkett from Route 22.


"This is history in the making..."it went on to say.
My presence was requested for that day.
Of Sally Plunkett, I had no conception.
Was this a party or some sort of reception?


Put on full make up, dressed to the teeth,
I looked like a colorful, big Autumn wreath.
Dress of bright gold, bold orange shoes.
I hoped that old Sally would give me some clues.


Once at that address, I noticed one thing,
Great big old house with a front porch swing.
A huge crowd of women, with bowls made of plastic.
Chattering voices, and praises fantastic!


While I was looking for coins for the meter,
I noticed a girl with a plastic egg-beater.
All of the women were laughing quite hearty.
Good Lord! Oh NO! It was a Tupperware Party!

A postcard from Cousin Bessie in Vermont,
Inviting me and my Lab, Lamont,
To come for a weekend in Bennington,
To vist with her, and to meet her new friend, Symington.


I was there once before, stayed on the second-floor,
Of her big stone house, with the decorative front door.
Cousin Bessie is a wonderful hostess,
I make myself notes on three post-its.


The porch is a wooden wrap-around,
Like those on other houses in town.
A pot of red geraniums on every step,
A front porch swing, tables, a wicker chair set.


An autumn wreath decorates Cousin Bessie's door,
That, plus fall leaves galore,
I knock, but don't hear a sound,
"Cousin Bessie, are you around?"


The door opens a crack, a strange face appears,
"Cousin Bessie is in the backyard," I hear.
"You're Valerie?" the stranger asks.
"Yes, I'm Valerie. You say Cousin Bessie is out back?"


I find her in the backyard, looking through binoculars,"
"Sy's first solo flight. He's more into guitars."
I look up at the tiny plane in the air,
"History in the making," she says, waving her hand with a flair.


"He saw your picture and wants to meet you.
He's handsome and very nice. You'll think so, too."
"Oh, Cousin Bessie, I don't know......."
Ha! You're twenty-four and it's time you found yourself a beau."


We were married four weeks later,
Sy and I, and the wedding couldn't have been greater,
We were wed in Bennington, Vermont,
In Cousin Bessie's backyard...Sy, me, and Lamont.

the host seated us on the front porch
while we waited we heard a tape of the history of the mall
we were seated on the front porch swing
i became sleepy listening
so i got up and put a few coins in the juke box
and bought a few post cards for souveniers
when exiting this place
i put a woven wreath on the door