the grief, such a little pinch
a park bench baked seat
we too, bench and me
like the park, solemnly
where do birds fly
— my wonder, undercover
beneath the last refrain
of nature song fades…
surely not within me?
nor the park bench baked seat
which soulfully comforts me
such song (and birds) n’er die
but this grief surely will!
:: 05-16-2014 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 