The Velvet Chair
Many have felt,
my soft velvet skin,
from the common to royal,
my service I lend.
Sometimes for hours,
they sit, and think,
as they rock, and rest,
and their sleepy eyes blink.
Once I was lonely,
no one called on me,
they said I was to pretty,
with my hand carved feet.
Up in a room,
I was cold, and alone,
till my mother fell apart,
her rocking days gone.
Years have passed,
and I am still here,
I have comforted many,
and caught their tears.
Although I have noticed,
a little squeak now, and then,
I'm still rocking strong,
and my service I lend.
Copyright © Christy Hardy | Year Posted 2009
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