Cane, Chair and Painting

(Three tankas)

Old, worn oaken cane,
Abandoned to a corner.
Polished smooth with use,
Dusty now, long forgotten,
Its owner ever sleeping.

Painted rocking chair,
Knitted, faded shawl tossed down
Over one worn arm.
Memories of children here,
That linger like settled dust.

Folded hands praying,
A faded painting askew,
Glass cracked, stained with age,
Marked by the years on its wall,
Reminder of the Master.


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