Proud Bench

A proud bench was alone.
It relished its perfection.
The seats were comfortable.
Its decorations were a special gift.

In that park grew many roses.
Their beauty was a natural endowment.
Visitors were calmed by their aroma.
Still humble, they felt joy from their service.

The grass couldn’t understand the bench.
Children played and laughed with them.
Geese were fed by their blades.
Always renewed, they smiled for their service

As the ages passed, the bench’s beauty faded.
The grass and roses were reborn every spring.
The bench lost hope in its loneliness.
No longer needed, it was finally taken away.

W. Wayne B.

About William Wayne Smith

I'm a poet, library fan and maker.
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