Out on the porch in the hush of evenin’,  
Where shadows stretch and the day grows thin,  
The old swing waits, with its gentle creakin’,  
Rockin’ in rhythm to memories within.  
It ain't just sittin’ nor waitin’ for time,  
It’s holdin’ the heart of the old home in line.

There’s Ma and Pa, and kinfolk gatherin’,  
Voices blendin’ with the whippoorwill’s song;  
Lemonade sweatin’ in mason jars glistenin’,  
Stories and laughter that drifted along.  
The swing, like a cradle, rocked us all near,
Holdin’ the years, and the folks we hold dear.

Neighbors would wander up, slow and smilin’,  
Leanin’ on fences, or settlin’ in close;  
Talkin’ of weather, of crops, and beguilin’  
The dusk with their news, or a neighborly boast.  
The swing was the pulpit, the pew, and the pitcher,  
Where gossip and kindness made all our days righter.

I recall Granddad’s hands, rough with old seasons,  
Pushin’ me gentle, his stories spun slow;  
Grandma’s soft hummin’, the hush and the reasons  
She’d pat my small hand so I’d always know-  
That love, like the swing, circles back through the years,  
Rockin’ us steady through laughter and tears.

And oh, the sweet hush of a soft summer evenin’,  
When two hearts would meet in the porch’s embrace;  
Whisperin’ secrets, the moonlight believin’  
That time could stand still in that tender old place.  
A shy brush of fingers, a promise, a sigh,  
The swing holdin’ dreams as the night drifted by.

Paint’s chipped and faded, the chains might be rusted,  
But still it keeps swayin’ as old as it seems;  
It’s more than a seat where the idle have trusted.
It’s the keeper of moments, the cradle of dreams.  
For out on that porch, in the hush of the gloamin’,  
The old swing keeps rockin’ and time keeps flowin'.