By Carol A. Hale
My old chair has always been there
Cradling me through dark years of illness and despair
Easing me through months when everything hurt ‘cept my hair
Rocking me as I helplessly watched independence fly way into thin air
Soothing me through sleepless nights when awakened from yet another nightmare
Its arms holding me as I mourned the loss of those who ceased to care
Listening in the dark silence while I cried and my very soul I did bare
Ever a comfort through days cloudy or fair
I do declare
Nothing can compare with my old chair
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