Squeaky, creaky rocking chair
Grandma shyly shaking there
Wears a bun of silver hair
Knits a patterned dress to wear
Faded flowers everywhere
Wither 'way and thither there
Squeaky, creaky rocking chair
Grandma shyly shaking there
Wears a bun of silver hair
Knits a patterned dress to wear
Faded flowers everywhere
Wither 'way and thither there
A different and disconnected poem of mine. You might not get it the first time.
