She sits in her chair, her comfy old rocking chair

Made of oak that’s like her withered with age

On her lap is a book, a comforting old book

Her shrivelled fingers are marking her page

She has a smile on her face, a kindly old face

A face once smooth but now wrinkled and dry

White hair freshly combed matches terry-cloth robe

And she’s smiles cause she don’t want to cry

She hums a little tune, a happy little tune

From some old forgotten memory gone past

Can’t find her specs, though they hang from her neck

Her memories fading a little at last

As the clock strikes the hour, the loneliest hour

She thinks she’s been forgotten alone

Then in through the door, the always open door

Old friends and family enter to surprise her at home

There’s presents and cake and candles and kids

100 years is a reason to party she’ll agree

As she sits in her chair, her old comfy rocking chair

Rocking a grandbaby snuggled safe on each knee.