TWO CHAIRS

I saw two chairs made of ash,
My friends were ready to trash.
I asked if I might,
Given such a sight,
Remove and change them in a flash.

The years they sat out of doors,
Took away their beauty by the score.
They languished so long,
Where they did not belong,
And their finish was unsightly and poor.

So I began to refinish as I ought,
A few hours at most, I thought,
But to my surprise,
I was not very wise,
More Minutes and hours I sought.

To strip pealing paint seemed so simple
But I made progress as small as a dimple
The more that I scraped
The more time escaped
And when sanding I thought of Miss Wimple.




She's well known in my head over years
In my brain endless stories I'd hear.
she'd rock forth and back
As she'd linger and chat,
And enjoyed birds singing in her ears.

I managed to work very hard,
As I lingered for hours in the yard.
I sanded and scraped,
Lost in thought I escaped,
To stories of Miss Wimble 'til jarred.

My thoughts returned to my view
Of ashen chairs, half dead, made new,
With deep bluish stain,
And much love to gain,
Two chairs are now ready for you.

Lets linger in the garden, you and me,
And think of the beauty we see.
Let's sip lemonade,
And wonder who made,
These treasured two chairs for no fee.