Surcease for me a rocking chair,
With naked feet high in the air.
Belching echoes' of moans and groans,
Resting this restless bag of bones.
Where little good of me remains,
With time worn hands and liver stains.
I boast another feature share,
The shakes became a cresting heir.
Some tokens heal, my cat surcease,
I knead her as I think on peace.
She answers me with purrs so loud,
They dull the closing aging shroud.
I quell within my rocking chair,
Sooth the flares of the pains I bear,
Reduce the groans and undertones
And try to rest this bag of bones.
With rest my eyes begin to close,
I drift away and start to doze.
And when I dose, I am passť,
Of age, of pain and resume.