No-nonsense chair, it solidly graces <br />The kitchen-hearth corner, cushioned, prepared <br />For heavy or lightweight to try pacing <br />It's movement of hypnotic rock, shared <br />By centuries now of differing sized hands. <br /> <br />It glows with polish, asthmatically groans <br />When abused, but some carpenter planned <br />This object of strength. Time-capsule, honed <br />By soothed memory, embedded there by <br />Stories unfolded while rocking. Moments <br />Soporificly sped. Plans quietly vyed <br />With family security and found pent <br />Up in this chair. Stroke it and feel vibrant <br />Lives striving for betterment, realized <br />Hopes all float here in distressed wood, dyed <br />In somnolent rhythm so greatly prized. <br /> <br />Phantom faces flicker in it's depth, will <br />They share more secrets if I sit still?<br /><br />Fay Slimm<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rocker-s-tale/
