THE OLD ROCKING CHAIR

My grandmother used to tell me
A tale of long ago,
When her grandmother used to rock
In that chair to and fro,
And sing the sweetest song to her
When she was afraid,
It had pink flowered cushions
And some were a little frayed.
It used to squeak as it rocked,
A rather soothing sound,
Her father said it needed oil
But none was ever found,
For grandma used to hide it
So the squeak would stay.
It used to squeak when she rocked me,
When she was old and grey.
Now I have grandchildren of my own,
And a treat when they come
Is to be rocked in the old chair,
They think it is great fun.
The cushions are all nice and new
But the squeak has not gone away,
For it reminds me of my family
Who I will meet again one day.

Ann Margetson
June 1 1995
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