By the end of a weary day
In my rocking chair I sit,
To rock the wiles away
and relieve my tired old feet.
My body welcomes rest
as I let down my raven hair,
a deep breath escapes my chest
in the sanctity of my rocking chair.
I savor the calm and wash away the day's mess,
My rocking chair, my refuge
Where I feel my very best.
Yours might not be like mine
See, they come in different forms,
There's wood, there's soft and plush
But mine is not the norms.
My rocking chair is special
It's not made of just material,
Mine is the arms of God
The best peace I've ever had.
- Anamarie Fox-
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