The bench sits alone.
The young lovers who met there
have aged,
trading in park time for porch-sitting.
The bench remembers
how they used to come walking,
hand-in-hand out of the woods,
each step light and silver.
It was new then and the lovers
would stop and sit,
and kiss.
They would talk about their dreams
and their passions,
what jobs they wanted,
how many kids they would have.
But time changed all of that.
The bench aged and its people aged.
And now it sits alone, paint chipping,
hoping,
wishing
for the arrival of young lovers again.
(c) Amy George 2007



Comments: 27
Have a great da!
Never mind, benchie-poo. The lovers' offspring will visit you and the cycle will start once again.
Nor is my heart with what you two have wrought!
I happened to be in an open mood and your poem hit me with full-force.
I'm devastated--my heart plunged into my past and withered again at the death-dealing changes of Love lived Wide-Open.
It will resurrect; it always has...
Thank you, so much!!!
~ Alex
I will speak on Amy's behalf as well, and thank you all for stopping by to add your kind comments.
hoping,
wishing'...
Great work.
Great collaboration.