Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Gramma's Chair

Unadorned, it silently sits
Yearning for days that will not come.
None left possess a soul that it fits—
None to its beckoning succumb.

Phantoms take once again their form:
Laughs, and old fashioned discipline—
That drumming seat that kept you warm
Stands empty; none will fit within.

Icon; relic; battered old friend.
How I wish it could embrace you
As it did at the very end.
Those memories I retrace, too.

Vivid recollections of youth
Gathered around the warming hearth
As you rocked and told us of truth
Eyes gleaming for all they were worth

But not now. Not without you here.
Now it but sits in that corner
Day by day and year after year
A worn, solitary mourner.

It seems I’m not the only one,
With my raw heart and empty chair
That you’ve left your impression on.
We wish you were still rocking there.


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