In the corner sits and old wooden rocking chair
Just as it's sat for the last hundred years
Worn and polished with the patina of age and use

I sit, pencil and pad in hand trying to visualize
What it has witnessed over the years long past
Tears of happiness, tears of heartbreak
Of births and of death

Christmases and birthdays when times were hard
Times when money was scarce
But times when the children understood
Times when children were content, with the little that they had

That old chair has sat there in the corner
For at least a hundred years
I read stories in the grainy polished woodwork
And let my imagination loose