I remember a time when the bloom was on the cotton
When our hearts chased the clouds like the swallow on the wing
When our cares which were already few, some forgotten
Just sitting on the front porch swing

Oh we'd sit every Sunday, and watch the married ladies
And we'd dream of white dresses and church bells in the spring
And they'd talk and paint their nails while they let us hold their babies
Sitting on the front porch swing

Where was I when the time came to join the married ladies
Why did I paint the nail when the finger had no ring
Why do I sit at my age and long to hold their babies
Sitting on the front porch swing

When the mind longs to follow, but the memory erases
And the lips form the words that the heart no longer sings
When the leaves in the hollow have been dyed to match our faces
Sitting on the front porch swing

Oh we'll dream of the time when the bloom was on the cotton
When our hearts chased the clouds like the swallow on the wing
But the words to the rhyme are not the only things forgotten
Sitting on the front porch swing
Sitting on the front porch swing