The Bench

The Bench This evening I walked through the park, the old wooden bench was still there And the memories of meets after dark, rushed in of the times we would share She said, I will meet you at eight, I knew she’d be true to her word Not once, was she, ever late, by the strokes of the town clock I heard Long before her, I would always be, to rehearse what I wanted to say To dream of her touch heavenly, how her hair on her shoulder would lay She’d settle her light form close by, I ’d slide my arm round her waist On her face I would fix longing eye, then her loving kisses I’d taste And how I remember the night, I knelt, asked her hand could I take And at first, she teased, she might, then at last my heart didn’t break She’d say, you are full of romance, is easy with you, I would say She’d ask, if there was a chance, we’d be here when we’re old and grey So I find myself sitting once more, on the bench where it had all begun Though the years, have passed double score, I still hasten the setting of sun I hear, eight strokes singing plain, and soon she’ll be sitting close by We’ll meet at the bench yet again, where my heart waits with same, longing eye Entered into, Black Eyed Susan, contest, On a Bench Written 18 March 13