Rocking Chair Blues

Where all country musicians go....rocking away with their guitars

He once stood tall on a wooden stage

Patting his feet just to keep the beat

and a microphone was his best friend

Traveling from town to town

A cold bus seat was his bed of dreams

But it was home to him for a time it seemed

But age caught up with him

His body slowed down and he couldn't win

    The battle with time

He just sat on the front porch

With his guitar and a bottle of wine

The front porch rocker was his new home

The wooden planks were his stage

Just a different crowd cheering at his front door

The notes he remembered weren't as loud anymore

But he just sat back and played the Rocking Chair Blues