In the corner of my study sits an old leather chair A little stressed and worn but nonetheless in good repair
Its where I do my thinking and light my favorite pipe
A little place of solace on a dark and gloomy night
There are times when my days have been hard and way too long
The rest I find here in my chair refresh me like a song
The world can go on turning and time can tick away
I’ll close the door and stay right here to keep troubles well at bay
My little piece of quiet where I find solitude and peace
My leather chair, exactly where, my problems all release
There are many times I talk to the one who heals my woes
And in my chair He meets me there and gives me sweet repose
If one could find a spot where life’s cares are swept away
They’d always want to linger there and be content to stay
My chair speaks “home” and “comfort” from its little corner place
A haven for my spirit from the worlds most hectic pace
In the corner of my study sits an old leather chair
A little stressed and worn but nonetheless in good repair
The place where God reminds me that I am very blessed
To know his peace and feel his love and find sweet arms of rest
How nice to have a special place that comforts soul as well as body. I find much symbolism in inanimate things sometimes; using a certain mug, sitting in a favorite chair, and so on. God is good to give us sensitivity to the things He provides for us.
I love the scene you present in this homey poetry.
On February 20, 2003, pyrotechnics at a rock club in West Warwick, RI set off a devastating fire that roared through the crowded club, killing 100 people and injuring hundreds more. Gina Russo was one of the survivors, and she retells her harrowing e
Sepsis knocked her down and out. Faith, hope, and gave her the strength to get back on her feet. I am a Runner She fought the river of death They said she'd never run again
She proved them wrong...
(Richard M. Feldman) Ever since I was a young boy, the only thing I wanted to be was a cowboy. I wanted to own and work on a real ranch, with cattle and horses. Especially horses.
While I never became a cowboy, considering everything I have done
I love the scene you present in this homey poetry.
Connie