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My Rocking Chair

When I am old and worse for wear

I want to buy a rocking chair,

And set it on a porch where shine

The stars of morning glory vine;

With just beyond, a gleam of grass,

A shady street where people pass;

And some who come with time to spare,

To yarn beside my rocking chair.

Then I will light my corncob pipe

And dose and dream and rarely gripe.

My morning paper on my knee

I won’t allow to worry me.

For if I know the latest news

Is bad, — to read it I’ll refuse,