His Scarf

their park, their bench was serenely quiet leaves playfully danced as pigeons quickly took flight. he caressed the colourful scarf she had knitted with love and care he wept tears of remembrance; her smile, her joy, the scent of her hair. a chilly breeze made him shiver he held tightly his scarf, wrapped it around his lips he inhaled deeply; breathing her in. with steaming cups of coffee a paper bag of gooey cinnamon buns they had laid out the sunday crosswords debated and laughed; they were truly one. tummies full, cheeks a rosy glow she lay her head on his lap gazed into his clear blue eyes, he kissed her forehead, held softly her hand. this was their time, their park, their bench he beamed recalling, the day she chose him. she raced him uphill to the gorgeous oak tree, they rolled down the hill; laughing aloud. he rose from their bench, lured by the gorgeous oak tree fought back tears, as he slid down the trunk, knees to his chest; fingers wrapped in his scarf. he read what they etched only a few days ago, hers read "you are my oak, forever you are my love" his read "my scarf is your heart; you are my soul" he kissed the etchings; cheeks streaming tears. glancing down at their bench he froze, watching; a young couple with steaming cups of coffee gooey cinnamon buns peeking through a paper bag, he rolled down the hill; his scarf,her spirt,in hand. pulling carefully a piece of fringe from his scarf he carefully placed it in the young man's hand smiling, he watched them hold one another close; in their park, on their bench,now; a new love bloomed she forever lives in him, their park, their bench the etchings, her laughter, the love in her eyes. his scarf, her soul; eternally they are entwined.