The Song Of The Chair Poem by Jonathan H. Scott

How empty sits the chair beside the door,
So many times its duty it fulfilled.
Now, undisturbed it rests forevermore—
With each new day it helped our lives to build.

At first the chair at table it did grace
When there to sit and sup our daily bread,
And each of us was safe within our place,
And thankful we for being all so fed.

As days went by and year came after year,
Familiar ones would come and then would go,
And often seated, though would never fear
What lesson then dear papa would bestow.

Soon afterwards the guests would all disperse,
But then return, a slice of sweet to share
And reaching hands to see who would be first
To have one's fill yet, more there was to spare.

And through dark nights the chair sat deathly still
To watch some tiny mouse scoot ‘cross the floor,
To scurry here and scamper there at will
And in the morning dash beneath the door.

At break of day as sunshine filled the room,
The chair was borrowed as a stool to step
For little ones their breakfast to consume,
And were it not, they may be waiting yet.

But by and by the chair began to creak,
Though no one thought the lesser of the thing,
As with us all, grew older by the week,
Thus used to sit and watch the sparrows sing.

And later, when all went their merry way,
A weary soul might steal a rest to take
Before the chores and starting of one's day,
Such lonely hours will make a heart to ache.

Then summer came and went just as before.
And as one passed a book or cap to set
Upon the seat, a coat reached to the floor,
It mattered not it would be dry or wet.

And as the autumn leaves began to fall,
The cat into the chair would climb to nap.
Until its mistress would begin to call,
Or at the door a neighbor he would rap.

And autumn it gave way to winter's wind
With clear night skies and stars above that glow
Eventually, the cold it would rescind.
And spring again would melt away the snow.

About the house with lives crisscrossing lives,
And joy and sadness shared each one in turn,
All memory so vividly survives—
The hearthstones of our hearts how they do burn.

Now, by the door the empty chair does wait.
It passes time as time will not be still.
So with our lives, the hour of our fate
We know it not; it comes against our will.