Swinging on the porch swing in the gathering darkness. . . only the monotonous sound of the night bugs. . . tree frogs singing a sleepy good-night. . . an old song runs through the mind. . .
"Once in the dear, dead days beyond recall.
When on the world the mists begin to fall,
Out of the dreams that rose in happy throng,
Low to our hearts love sang an old sweet song."
"Just a song at twilight
When the lights are low,
And the flickering shadows
Softly come and go.
Though the heart be weary,