Rock me gently

Rock me gently

The bamboo chair creaks

With the accumulation

Of memories

Age has split its sides

There is no laughter

In the bedroom

After the visiting angel

Has gone

Ministrations complete

In a trice

Miracles to perform

On the clock

Practiced at the art

Of governance

Nothing left to chance

A cup of tea

Is a life saver

Milk in first or after

Who cares

Nothing is worth the trouble

Of asking

Time is wasting away

For a moment of respite

Nothing seems fit

For purpose

Even skin hangs loose

Bruises are worn down

To the bone

Age spots bleed

There are no salad days

Memories run

In and between

Every thought a haunting

Was it in childhood

He contemplated a tattoo

Did his father

Bring the chair back from the war

What was the meaning

Of the lock

On the window, the door

Why put the stick out of reach

Ask the angel

When she returns

Rock me gently

Mother knows best

Pretty lace doilies

On the dressing table

In his parents bedroom

Did the chair really come

From Singapore

The medals,

Stuffed in a box

At the bottom

Of an old walnut wardrobe

Tell me again

What were they for?