The branches shook in the wind,
sending more drops to deform the writing.  
Puddles surrounding,
it is soon to be drowned.

Sitting under a park bench.
Left and forgotten.
The Sunday funnies are no longer funny,
the news is no longer important, and
the score on the Giants game debatable.
It starts to pour.

Rain washes away footprints,
chalk and spilled ice cream cones.
It even washes away the news when forgotten,
under a park bench on a Thursday evening.