The Olde Wooden Rocker

The Olde Wooden Rocker prose poem

Photo by docoverachiever

The old wooden rocker was rustic and worn; no one could remember the year it was born. It rocked with one partner for decades of years but now it was silenced, and all were in tears. Its faithful old rider had ended her ride and all those nearby were silent or cried. The rocker stood empty for one or two years when something strange happened and filled all with fear. A storm had arisen and hit the old house, and doors were all opened by wind from the South. The wind hit the rocker and it started to move, a back and forth motion, not fast, just real smooth. The storm kept its force for almost one hour, then left all worn out with almost no power. The house in a short time was brought back to order but one thing remained that is hereby recorded. The rocker kept rocking, and rocking all day, and nothing would stop it or stand in its way. Some folks say its rocking still up to this day but most feel that gossip is mostly hearsay. But miracles happen and old legends live on, and so will the old rocker long after we’ve gone..

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Warren P Padla

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majored in journalism at NYU in the 50s; received my masters in business from there and worked for Equitable Life in NY for many years. When retired entered antique business and real estate; retired to Massachusetts and Florida; currently do a lot of volunteer work. Friends forced me into poetry due to much writing I had sent to them over the years. So I joined High On Poems. the end, warren
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The Olde Wooden Rocker

The Olde Wooden Rocker prose poem

The olde wooden rocker was rustic and worn; no one could remember the year it was born. It rocked with one partner for decades of years but now it was silenced and all were in tears. The faithful old rider

The Wooden House Where Uncle Lived

The Wooden House Where Uncle Lived prose poem

Fresh smell of wild herbs in the perambulation uphill, Oh! Those clinging burr to my dog’s fur, I remember the sound of the crushing dried leaves, That was heard in a walk through the dark dense woods, My uncle lived