The Chair - Poem

The chair is old and pink.

It glides and on the side, has spilled ink.

Back and forth, it's clicks do peep,

Rocking the baby fast asleep.

Within the clicking is a gentle song,

Coming from someone who can do no wrong.

The chair cradles precious memories;

Even holds various off-key melodies.

The way she held me, soft and sweet,

Is a way the chair will forever keep.

The chair is lost now, it has served good time.

But the memories will always be the chair's and mine.