The Rocking Chair

In a dim-lit attic sits a rocking chair where a newborn child was suckled, there. Then, while a mother gently brushed my hair, father read tales aloud of Piglet and Pooh Bear. Later, it became a galloping horse at county fair, a sheet tossed over transformed into a pirate lair. Sometimes, it was a rocket for Digby and Dan Dare. A space for reading torchlit tales designed to scare. Once, in the den, while lazing in the chair Is where I first heard Simon Stewart swear "S**t, bugger arsehole, I don't care." He said, but as for me, I did not dare. I studied A's on E's quoted from Voltaire read Descartes and voted Tony Blair Sprayed purple dye on tall spiked hair Rocking gently, floating in mid-air. A broken heart, a broken love affair I tried to end it all once in that chair The world hates me, and I hate it; life's so unfair I'm still here but always have that cross to bear. Dreams of becoming rich, a millionaire, was I just building castles in the air while rocking with a gin and tonic in that chair. Then, later, I woke up the worse for wear. I now have children of my own, a pair We sit, for I have much to tell and much to share About love, life, and death; how to prepare; and read tales aloud of Piglet and Pooh bear. In a dim-lit attic sits a rocking chair I wonder how it ended up in there? The younger generation doesn't seem to care; but then again, why should they, to be fair!