A Park's Bench
From the most beautiful mornings,
To the most enchanting evenings,
From the spring to the frosty fall,
It's lived through to witness it all.
It's been there across generations and yet more to come,
Be it scientists or the philosophers, to it they succumb.
It has shouldered many a tired backs,
And more so of such kindly acts.
It has sheltered many homeless folks,
In many, a sense of nostalgia it invokes.
As it's always been there under the yew tree,
Open to everyone, without as little as a fee.
Scribbled across its surface are countless marks,
A sense of wonder in me every time it sparks.
A living history book it is for all, to see and touch,
Just be gentle with it... It's already aged much!
From a homeless man counting his days,
To a young artist experimenting his ways.
Carving in it animals and smiling faces,
It's wood has preserved their long left traces.
It sits there as it has always had: peacefully,
Under the yew tree, ageing beautifully.
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