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
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