Time, In Grampa's Rocking Chair Poem by Delmar Koehn

The old man sits in his rocking chair.
It squeaks while he rocks, but he doesn't care.
His eyes twinkle blue, and his hair is white.
And oh! The tales he could tell, If he might.

A little boy scrambles onto his knee.
In his eager young eyes, a determined plea
Grandpa, please tell me a story, says he.

The rocking chair stops,
And he tousles the little boy's hair into plumes
"Well, well, " he says. Then the squeaking resumes.