An antique sofa seat
It's inner springs gone askew
The padding once soft and replete,
Diminished and almost worn through.
It's threadbare fabric strains,
And pulls against weakened seams,
Held rough on a weak creaking frame,
Of damaged and shifting beams.
And yet, one still may find,
Great pleasure that is to be known,
When taking a beat to recline,
And think about each separate home,
This furniture has seen,
Grand moments in life it has shared,
Idyllic days,calm and serene,
And comfort from darkest despair.
Agreements and dissent,
The happiness countering tears,
The jubilant cheers and repent,
Of long passing months and quick years.
A resting point for souls,
Who stop for a moment and stay,
To catch a quick breath and then go,
As life leads them off on their way.
