That Old Wooden Rocker

There it stands by the fire with its back to the wall

That old wooden rocker, so stately and tall

With naught to disturb it but dusting of broom

And no one to use it in that parlor room

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As she sat by the fire, she would rock, rock, rock

And she heard but the tick of the old grand clock

Eighty years has she sat in that chair, prim and tall

That old wooden rocker that stands by the wall

How well I still remember in days that are gone by

How we stood by that rocker, my sister and I

And we listened to the stories that grandma would tell

As she sat in the rocker that we all loved so well

If the chair could but speak, oh the tales it would tell

How my poor aged grandpa, in his battle, fell

Beneath the stars and the stripes, he fought bravely and true

He cherished his freedom beneath the red white and blue

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Now grandma is dead, all the stories are done

All the children have followed her, yes one by one

They have all gone to meet her in the sweet by and by

And all that is left is my sister and I

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