The Rocking Chair

The rocking chair moves
to and fro,
Her worn out feet push
oh so slow.
Gnarled hands lay at rest,
So many little ones they
have blessed.
Tears drop from large, sad eyes,
Memories consume the
old and wise.
Like the flower past its' bloom,
Her spirit lingers in the gloom.
All must die to live once more,
The rocker sets still on a
weatered floor.