Sunday, March 11, 2007

Empty Benches

Empty Benches

There is a lonely bench
For most of the year it sits in the Secret Garden
Waiting for a lone squirrel, chipmunk or Cardinal to rest on it's wood

It waits patiently for the time of year
When colours emerge from the soils
That surround it's empty nest

Greens and purples, blues, whites and oranges
Suddenly leap forth
And life on the bench springs forward

It longs to feel its worth is noted
It yearns for the weight of heavy souls
And reaches out to capture the toll

This bench is my home
On those long, sweltering days of summer
And gives me the rest I cherish and desire


Anonymous said...

Hey there, Miss you..time is going by fast now..where did it go friend..can I still call you friend?

Hidden Wizard said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Hidden Wizard said...

Always room for a friend or two....but if you are anonymous, then how do I