Love is a Rocking Chair.
Love is one of the worlds hardest defined words.
We can get a dictionary and read what it means
but it has comes in so many forms.
When I think of love I am reminded
Of waiting for the birth of my first baby.
We went out to the unpainted furniture store
and my husband bought me the nicest rocking chair.
We picked out the exact wood and then
went on to choose a color to stain it.
That rocking chair sat in my living room waiting
for the day we brought our baby home.
I can remember the rocking chair my mother
had when I was little.
The floors of our home were wood and waxed
to a glossy shine.
When you rocked the creaks could be heard the whole
There were many days that I sat in the rocker
just to make it creak.
My mother rocked many grandchildren in her rocking chair.
I can visualize the wood spindles that made up its frame.
I can still see the maple color of the wood.
I remember many a night a colicky
baby was rocked until it calmed, the
creaking and back and forth motion lulling it to sleep.
I suppose I equate love with rocking chairs because
only love stays up all night with a little helpless
one. And I cannot imagine a home without one.
I cannot forget the warm ,fuzzy, teary feeling
that came over me when I snuggled down
in my rocking chair with my baby.
Nor can I imagine the emptiness when the
babies are all grown up and gone.
Maybe just maybe I can sit in
my rocking chair and look back at all the
memories and listen to the creaking
and count my blessings.
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