By the river is
An empty bench where we once sat,
Exploring our dreams, discussing our future,
Or sometimes we would just sit in silence,
The silence of companionship and love,
Occasionally we would feed the ever present ducks and swans,
Throwing the bread crumbs in a wide arc so all would get a share.
We often, unwittingly, did that with our lives too,
Spreading ourselves in a wide arc, permitting others to have a share of us.
But the bench was ours,
Our private world.
I will sit no more on that bench,
Let it remain empty,
It was a bench for two, not one.
Photograph by Beth Burrow
An empty bench where we once sat,
Exploring our dreams, discussing our future,
Or sometimes we would just sit in silence,
The silence of companionship and love,
Occasionally we would feed the ever present ducks and swans,
Throwing the bread crumbs in a wide arc so all would get a share.
We often, unwittingly, did that with our lives too,
Spreading ourselves in a wide arc, permitting others to have a share of us.
But the bench was ours,
Our private world.
I will sit no more on that bench,
Let it remain empty,
It was a bench for two, not one.
Photograph by Beth Burrow
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