Sixty years ago
No spring chicken even then
Chair gifted to me
Covering threadbare
Reupholstered more than once
Stories chair could tell
Time to spruce things up
Brought in classy new arm-chair
Taking pride of place
Early showing wear
Became sad embarrassment
I’m watching for sales
Meanwhile my old chair
Stalwart in simplicity
Quietly bides its time.
poetrybyheart.me 