The Old Armchair

In Memoriam; 1937-2021

I rest, as once more

my legs are crossed upon the floor;

the old armchair not looms but graces

the room, and our two listening faces.

Conversation leads the wane,

the world waxes, yet I remain,

the armchair not yet old but so;

solemn comes and solemn goes.

But long since years have passed me by,

nineteen there, twenty nigh,

and still the armchair's yet to fade;

in grace and hope, and heart pervade.

And silent sit I lend my ear

to stories told first time this year,

of decades past and my existence

just a spark, universal resistance.

Generations part the seas

like Moses, only I believe

in stories told from familiar tongues,

not sung, and yet exist in song.

The armchair rests in praise and strength,

the day shall pass, familiar length;

and that familiar person there

much to rely, and all to share.

In trust, in grace, in hearted love,

and stories from which I will carve

a narrative in which I fit;

one day this armchair, I shall sit.

2017-2018