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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The Rocking Chair That Keeps… Up in the attic, there’s something or someone that keeps, creeping and seeping into the eerie air: for the darkness is greedy as it smothers a world of mystery, a century of family history, all boxed and cased in a crust of rust and dust! Pictures of Dad as a sprightly lad, Gran with no wrinkle just a youthful twinkle and bits of me bagged and forgotten. However, it is the empty, rocking chair that reaches out with a squeeze of….. unease. Yes, up in the attic, there’s something or someone that keeps, sneaking and peaking with a stony stare: as pipes snake into secret, cobwebbed lairs and wooden beams stream like overhead train lines while the excitement of discovery hides in the past. But it is the empty, rocking chair that grips and grabs at my attention as I sense ‘something’ neighbouring the rocking chair. Oh yes, up in the attic, there’s something or someone that keeps, nudging and grudging with a gloomed glare: as the room suddenly trembles, my heart holds tight but it’s only the wind galloping by at night. Immediately a watery giggle, gurgles the length of a pipe as if teasing my increasing unease. I turn and an aged mirror offers a face of fear but I breathe again – for it has only borrowed mine. Up in the attic, there’s definitely something or someone that keeps, me uneasy, even queasy, each time I am there: for the darkness is greedy as it smothers a world of mystery, a century of family history, all boxed and cased in a crust of rust and dust! But now…. something far more shocking, a lone rocking chair that keeps.…rocking!
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