"when life gives lemons, make lemonade,"
goes the saying, so we did--sugar and water
and tart yellow juice mixed together
on a sunny summer Saturday afternoon.
now here we sit on your front porch swinging
(you and me and the devil makes three).
the temperature: fahrenheit ninety-three,
but it feels worse. so thank God for ice in lemonade,
and the breeze sending the chimes swinging
and ringing like the sound of water,
and the shade of clouds in late afternoon,
but thank God more that we're all here together
beneath the sun, linked together
by years and stories. nineteen seventy-three
our paths diverged one afternoon
in that sweet-and-sour day like lemonade;
we parted like the ancient red sea waters,
diplomas in hand and tassels swinging.
but now by the chance of this pendulum swinging,
some strange twist brought us once again together.
love just can't be drowned by time's raging water,
but life has done its damage to us three,
so now we burn away our sorrows with acid lemonade,
whiling away another july afternoon
just like we did when we were kids, but this afternoon
finds us older, wiser, a little slower in swinging,
(our middle-aged knees creaking), drinking lemonade
like we'd never tasted it. we take big gulps together,
and sunset sneaks its way here and finds three
half-empty glasses and a pitcher full of lemony water.
my wife's out front gardening now--i can hear the water
trickle out from the hose, to restore what the afternoon
sun took from the plants. and maybe we three
might be restored to youth through swinging
like children on this back porch together,
fueled by old memories and sugar-drenched lemonade...
then again, maybe now together we three
old friends can leave afternoon behind, cross that water
and, full of lemonade, face our old age and come out swinging.