On That Bench In Central Park
That shady spot
in Central Park
was our hangout
on long afternoons
as we watched balloons
rising higher than a hawk.
In that bench on Central Park,
we hugged and laughed
so mindless of a passerby;
we heard a hungry baby cry,
his mother caressed him
the usual tantrum:
a game of Drive Wild.
Those kisses of spring delight
mixed with soft sighs,
hummingbirds came around,
they stopped and watched;
weren't they amazed
by our smooching?
We sensed their craving,
it excited their sight.
On that bench in Central Park,
we had the keck of a wild time,
ready to quench
the flame burning
in the magical serene twilight...
while butterflies were flapping.
Who could wish for much more
in such a perfect, calm scene?
Is it now the same one
as yesterday so vivid and keen?
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