Girl On A Bench Poem by Timmy Angel Naylor

She came sometimes
To the end of the lane
And sat on the bench.
Looking at books
Of Latin or French,
But really came to dream
And watch the world go by.
And I
In passing, just said 'Hi'
Looking scruffy and feeling shy.

I knew she was a kind girl,
Clever and funny
With flaxen hair,
I hardly ever saw her there.
And I was plain and country-rough
And didn't sort of know stuff.
But she was just
The most intriguing soul
In my small world.

Fifty years on I can google in vain,
I can't get back to the end of the lane
And look for the girl with the flaxen hair
Who once in a while was sitting there.
A soulful girl
Who sat on the bench
And looked at books
Of Latin or French
But came to dream.

Cyberspace may empower us a lot
But can make me feel like a worthless dot.

But I could walk past that bench
On any evening
And feel
A small presence,
A warmth
That makes me look back.
And in that moment
Cyberspace could shrink
To nothing, nothing
Dwarfed
By a simple memory.
Of a girl in my small world.

A girl who sat on a village bench
In a place I loved.
A place where I was worth more.