A Rocking Chair(Jane Lockyer Willis) A ROCKING CHAIR
A poem written by and in memory of my late father, Jack Thomson

Amidst more modern furniture,
Arms and legs in curvature,
With high-backed poise there stands oblique
A slender, dignified antique –
My mother’s chair, where I was nursed
As she in softest tones rehearsed
Strange fictions for her child’s repose
To tunes she would herself compose.
And she this chair would oft declare
To be a therapeutic chair;
No need a headache to endure
While rhythmic rocking was the cure.
But now it’s hardly safe with age;
I fear the legs would disengage
Were asked to take a seat, a guest
Would choose the rocking chair as best;
Wherefore I’d say with emphasis,
‘Sit anywhere, except on this.’
The ban is, though the legs are loose,
In truth, a sensitive excuse.
But still, there’s one I’d like to see
On this old chair that’s facing me.
Her voice as sweet, her face as fair
Like as my mother seated there.
Through hers and mine we both are one:
She’d rock, we’d sing – in unison.


By Jack Thomson

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