I found my bench in the arboretum
In a lush corner of the conifers
Where I can be all alone for hours
All alone, my back against a plaque:

         In the loving memory of
            Herbert M Parker
                   1984

I sit on his shoulders so to speak;
We read, we dream, we nap,
We name the loud birds above us
After our favorite opera singers;
Herb and I love to discuss Big History,
And his time in the great war.

When the spring comes
I serenade my friend
And play from Bach for beginners
On the classical guitar-
Herb is an expert in the baroque,
But also has a great feel for samba.

He’s getting a bit run down, you know;
His legs are halfway in the soil,
His skin is spattered with moss.  
Salamanders live in his arm rest,
Ivy and dandelion poke through
The slats of greying wood.
But I say nothing: we are soul mates now.

Somewhere in the black earth he lies,
But I feel his body is right below me;
Somebody loved him enough
To place him here with loving memories
And pass the seasons with a stranger.