Just like the bench
Stripped bare many a time in its old life.
In life’s wilderness, open to the elements.
Sat upon by many now and from the afterlife,
The bench is far sturdier and far stronger than I.
It lays there and yields to weary beings.
Relaxed and happy to provide support.
Where our likeness is shared by many past and present.
Who will succumb first, I fear I.
The years have taken so much and left me with so little.
The bench smiles and cries silently.
I try to reflect the same.
We both try to reinvent those halcyon days.
Embracing our memories, funny always fond, always good.
Munster © 2018