An Old Bench Poem by David Harris
An Old Bench
An old bench where lovers sat
now lays weather beaten tattered and worn.
The stories it could have told
are crumbling into dust.
No one sits on it anymore
to listen to its tales.
It just crumbles with the weather
until it will be long gone,
except for within the memories
of the young lovers who once sat
holding hands and whispering
sweet nothing in each other's ears.
5 July 2014
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/8/2024 4:21:03 AM # 1.0.0.1119
