I sat in the closest park to my ****** neighborhood,
It had few benches, some grass and I think roses too…
It was fairly boring really, close to the road…
It had few ducks in the pond that stopped to grow…
People said it was so beautiful, so full of life,
I only saw the dying of any kind of light.
I remember once, I saw a couple there,
They were old, ancient, yet they sat there…
On an old rusty bench that started to smell,
They sat there, told each other of times they shared.
When their skin was not dry and the lights hadn’t died,
When the trees were just blooming and the ducks still grooming.
When their hears were still young and barely touched,
That’s when they said of how much they loved.
I smiled at them, knowing I was once again wrong.
The park wasn’t that terrible as I have told.