Kitchen Song

The trumpet vine grew in the kitchen window
and blew bright orange on the wall
You sat in the morning light, holding a guitar
as the first summer rain began to fall.
Like the gentle raindrops, your words fell in the air
Making things so clear as you quietly sat there
It reminded me of other times you had come before
And brought a song, or just walked in through the kitchen door.
Now it seems the truest words I ever heard from you
Were said at kitchen tables we have known
Somehow, in the warm room, with coffee on the stove
Our hearts were really most at home
Sitting at a table, looking hard at you
Catching up on stories of the things we'd tried to do
And it seems we really said the most when we didn't talk at all,
And let the song speak for us like the sunlight on the wall.
Now as you come and go, in sunshine and in rain
Some years are seen more clearly than the rest
If it weren't for kitchen songs and mornings spent with friends
We all might lose the things we love the best
I can see you sitting there, beneath the trumpet vine
With sunlight in the window, in the kitchen in my mind
You came when you were needed, I could not ask for more
Than to turn and find you walking through the kitchen door.

- Kate Wolf RIP

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