He sat upon the bench beside the home

reading his paper every day,

or mounded both his hands upon his cane

looking lithely out upon the field.

And sometimes, when I came that way

he called me by my name.

And every time my path would wind that way

I saw him sitting there.

While all of nature buzzed along,

He seemed a part of it,

practiced and unfeigned nobility.

–

As summer fought a fierce retreat

he held the rear-guard calmly

holding back the eager cold.

And on that day, that cold sharp day

I felt the icy wind-ing at my ears,

and hurried worried over what I fears

and saw the bench sat empty

I wept.

And slowly, as the snow-flakes crowned my head

I squared my shoulders, looked ahead

and took the seat that had been saved for me.

–

–

–

Photo by Lana Kravchenko: https://www.pexels.com/photo/lonely-bench-in-autumn-park-setting-29465874/