The Last Porch Light

(hummmm) I found an old box in the attic

With a name written on the side,

Some faded pictures, a pocketknife,

And a letter that you never signed.

There was a picture of you and Mom

Standing by that old front door,

And a note in your handwriting saying,

“Don’t forget what you’re living for.”

I was seventeen when you told me

That life don’t always go as planned.

I thought you were just being Dad,

Trying to make me understand.

I didn’t know you kept those worries

Behind that smile I knew so well.

You were carrying more than I could see,

But you never let me tell.

And the last porch light is still burning Like you’re waiting up

for me. I know you’re not behind that screen door,

But sometimes that’s what I see.

Every mile I’ve driven since Has brought me back somehow

To the man who taught me how to live By simply showing

me how. And if there’s one thing I wish I’d said Before

the years got away,

It’s that I finally understand you now

In ways I couldn’t

yesterday. I found your old work boots yesterday,

Still sitting by the stairs.

There’s a little dust across the toes,

But somehow you’re still there.

I put them on just for a minute,

They didn’t fit me anymore,

But I swear I felt your hand on mine Like I was

that kid once more.

Now I’ve got a little boy Who asks me where I’ve been.

I catch myself saying things you said,

And suddenly I hear you again.

Maybe that’s how fathers stay— Not in pictures,

not in stone,

But in every little piece of them Their children carry home.

So I’ll leave that porch light burning For the years I can’t

get back. I’ll tell my son about his grandpa

And the things he taught his dad.

I’ll take the long way home sometimes Just to see that old

front door,

And remember how a simple light

Could mean so much more.

And if you’re somewhere listening,

Dad, I hope somehow you know—

The boy you raised became a man,

But he never really let you go.

There’s still an old porch light burning… And I’m finally coming home.