Hysterical front porch jabber about nothing
And nostalgic back porch discussions about everything
Painting red toenails and catching warm breeze
With them she could talk for hours with ease
Listen to the songs that made her cry
To try to know that this is goodbye
Yet only till she entered her vacuous bed
Could she finally fathom the value of instead
I love the title of your poem. And the poem itself is great.
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