Still Life

There’s still life in this old table,
she thought as she sat down.
She rubbed a hand across it,
and checked it all around.

It’s seen many Xmas dinners,
children’s birthday parties too.
Friends, relatives and laughter,
with just a tear or two.

By day it was a workbench,
a place where plans were made.
Each night it served up dinner,
sometimes games were played.

In the last house it was darker
it wore a glossy hue.
But the new house was more modern,
dark and shiny wouldn’t do.

So they sanded it and waxed it,
likewise, four of its chairs.
There are two more chairs still waiting,
in the room that’s full of spares.

It still has much to witness,
many dinners, hot and cold.
There’s still life in this old table,
though it too is growing old.