David McLansky

(5/24/1944 / New York City)

On the Bench


Into the sweet garden light
Of cherry trees and needled pines,
Linger yet the birds of night,
Still chirping songs divine.

Not hard to live so circumscribed
Where life abounds in speckled shade;
Chipmunks bow and take a bribe;
Day birds hunt within the glade;

I sit my bench and smoke my pipe
And contemplate my prison,
The colors of the cherry ripe
Blot out the world’s derision.

Submitted: Friday, April 12, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, October 08, 2013

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