My Poetry

"In Her Rocking Chair"

All alone I see her there,
Rocking back and forth
In her rocking chair. . . . .

On the front porch of the shack
She called home - way far back
From the world as it scurried
She sat there rocking, free from worry.

Her hair had turned a snowy white
Her eyes had given up much sight
But still she sat there in her chair
Rocking gently without a care.

Did she see the moon at night?
Or had it eluded, too, from her sight.
Did she hear the bird's sweet song?
Or had her hearing been long gone.

It matters not what I may think
As I stood there on the brink
Of awe and wonder of such a sight
A lady rocking with hair so white.

What had she seen in her years
She seemed to have no outward fears.
Did she care she was all alone
In that little shack, her little home?

Did she mind this solitude
All alone in her home so crude.
Rocking on the porch so frail
With her wrinkled skin, aged and pale.

I felt invasive standing there,
Watching her rock without a care
As if the world were hers alone
Guarding her and her little home.

As my heart beat in a frenzy
I watched her rock with an envy
That I could have that same sweet peace
That her spirit seemed to release.

I left her rocking there so dear
She never knew I was even near
Rocking on that porch of her shack
And, I never, ever would go back.

I think of her an awful lot
On summer days when it's hot
Did she leave this world alone
Or did someone bring her to their home.

I guess I will never know
How or when she had to go
But I will long remember being there
Watching her rock in her rocking chair.

Crickett