That Old Wooden Chair

 That old wooden chair was his favorite spot to be

Sitting in the sunshine in the warmth of the day

Looking out across the land he loved so much

It stirred up memories that carried him away

He always took pride in those big cornfields

 He plowed from sun up to sun down

There’s nothing left but underbrush now

Nary a stalk of corn planted in the ground

Those fields made good corn back in the day

He hauled many a load to the gristmill

Even if it took him all day in that wagon

On an old gutted out road, most of it uphill

He always tried to share his bounty with others

Everyone wasn’t fortunate to have a good year

Even the stalks made for good fodder

That livestock sure did make it disappear

There was always plenty of planting going on

Whether it be corn or gardens growing so kind

Had to eat come summer or winter

Everything was canned, nothing was left behind

Even before the harvest had time to come in

He thought about winter and what it would bring

He had to keep the home fires burning, or else

If the weather got to bad and firewood got lean

He’d been all over those mountains and hills

Cutting and snaking out wood, it was the only way

That old mule knew how to work hard

He sure could pull that sled on any given day

One can never have enough wood to burn

In the winter when the sun sets low in the sky

Back when he was young and strong

Work was a pleasure, he could never deny

He could still hear those cherished words

Come on home now, it’s suppertime

He’d grab a dipper of cold, spring water

A sure cure for a hot thirst every time

Sitting on the porch in that old wooden chair

With his sweetheart, wife and best friend

Meant more to him than anything in the world

Oh how he yearned to do it all over again

There’s that pretty little grove of apple trees

Been there many a year, and so content

She helped to plant them, they brought a smile

Even with their trunks so bowed and bent

Her pretty flowers still bloomed in the spring

He always told her she had a green thumb

More beauty than an old man’s heart could hold

He’d soon see her, she was waiting for him to come

Awe, it sometimes brought tears knowing

Time and circumstance had left him behind

Yearning for the things he’d lost and loved

 Made him feel like he wasn’t worth a dime

He knew his life’s work was over and done

Remembering those bygone days brought a smile

They sure knew how to lift an old man’s spirits

From the warmth of that chair, if only for a while

Today the old house is so empty and quiet

 Nary a sound but the mantle clock’s tick

Plenty of reminders in every nook and crack

Over in the corner is that little walking stick

The sun still shines on that little window seat

The little birds sing but there’s no one to hear

So much nostalgia and loneliness left behind

In the heart of that old wooden chair

 © Susie Swanson, 2016