A table was fashioned from that sturdy tree.
All polished and round with long legs three.
It came home riding a red furniture van
Mustachioed and overalled was the delivery man.
The newlyweds stood it up in a place of pride
Holding up the phone, at the doorway’s right side.
It stood there for days, months and then years
What scoops it might have for gossiping ears !!
Then one morning on a wet and rainy day
It was decided that old faithful had to make way.
Give up the spot for a model, funky and new.
So it climbed to the kids’ bedroom , for tasks anew.
It held their play putty, some ribbons, a story book
Quite reveling in its new and homely look .
Soon the children grew , all gangly and tall.
Looking down at the table, now jaded and small.
It now stood in a corner , its old legs rather shaky.
Having lost it polish and it veneer very flaky.
No amount of polish could give it a face lift.
One eroded leg would cause things to shift.
As if for some warmth, it wore a white damask.
Holding up the crystal vase , was a veritable task.
Then one day it got a right royal thump.
Its now broken leg , had caused it to slump.
Without another thought, to the attic it was taken.
Where it stands to this day, alone and forsaken.
It can often hear the phone, the misses and the master.
The family dog bark, the children’s playful laughter.
Sometimes when it stands brooding and alone.
It yearns for the incessant ringing of the phone.
Or it thinks of the cool and comforting vase .
All his friends from those young and carefree days.
Feet would often trudge up and down to the attic
Bringing up a chest , some pictures or a stick.
The weathered table now grew a grey cobwebbed beard.
Then one day up came the attic’s latest member .The talkative phone, as red as he could remember!
The vase soon joined in the friendly fracas .
Making the Jones wonder at their attic’s weird ruckus!