I love to be able rocking my chair
Working and listening to everything
Sitting still and feeling you everywhere
Frozen in time enjoying marveling
At the wood at the ground at the brash sound
This is where my chair plants its sleigh all here
Burrowing pounding digging in the ground
Fog haze sweeping rhythmic and always dear
But my chair is older then existence
Fade spine kindling frail aged and in this stage
It does not occupy the same resistance
In my mind it is always marred and cage
Chair to capture mood, this joy in my seal
This complete wood ingratiated feel
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