The Front Porch

I don't have one of these at the moment (for some reason, a concrete slab extending 3 feet from our kitchen sliding door in our apartment doesn't quite give me the same warm fuzzies), but I can still daydream, right?
The following is a poem I wrote about two years ago, when our family first moved overseas to our current duty station. 

The Front Porch

by: queenie the bee

Whitewashed floorboards,
creaking with time,
a lifetime of winters
has weathered its pine.

'Twas nailed with a song,
pure love was spilt-
it's steps now echo
the one who built.

Tiny feet scamper,
while older ones creep.
Both embracing
the joy to reap.

Plain is this link
between nature
and man, wooden
gateway to hearth.