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.