It was cherry wood
An old rocking chair the color of aged wine
The seat and back were covered in worn velvet
It sat by the window in my upstairs bedroom
The breeze would ruffle the curtains as I rocked
My books beside me as I rocked
My music on as I rocked
I would rock and write
I would rock and think
I was safe in the chair
The room my sanctuary
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very nice Satira and very descriptive 'Keep on inking the Pages' Poison