Creaky Chair

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Writing and Reviewing!

A random poem... BUT I find it to be kinda sentimental if you can relate. *IMAGE CREDITS: PIXABAY*

Rocking chair on the porch,

faint smell of the borsht,

that she used to make,

using beets, fresh as cake.

Telling stories of her life,

while eating pie, cut with a large knife,

remember walking down that old lane,

while she stumbled along with her cane.

Missing her silly, old, cooky ways,

while you're beat down, by the sun's rays.

The cookies she brought,

the lessons she taught.

How did they all disappear? 

All that's left, is the creaky, old, rocking chair.

 

 

 

 


Submitted: February 10, 2021

© Copyright 2021 dreamcatcher10. All rights reserved.

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dreamcatcher10

Obviously about a grandmother :)

Wed, February 10th, 2021 3:11pm

M.C.R.

This actually reminds me of MY grandmother. She is indeed still alive, yet she has so many stories to spin and pies to serve. I don't where the borsht came from, but my grandmother adores making it and I consume it about twice a week, literally :)

Wed, February 10th, 2021 3:31pm

Author
Reply

Really? Wow! I went off of how I know grandmothers to be! :)

Wed, February 10th, 2021 8:24am

M.C.R.

:)

Wed, February 10th, 2021 4:53pm

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