The Life of a Park Bench…

Its 10am, clear blue skies over head.

A young child is being led by its mother.

The bench’s rustic boards are transformed.

‘Ye best walk the plank mama’.

He’s a little boy, a son, a captain of a ship.

The mother stays close, but indulges in his fantasy.

Men fall overboard,

Others survive.

A swan in the distance captures his attention.

They’re off again.

Sunlight seeps into every groove.

The bench feels pride.

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