Bench on the path,
He sits in the middle of the woods
Covered in the prints of time,
He’s withstood howls of anger,
And cries of anguish,
In the middle of the woods.

Bruises and cuts were tended to,
As were disconnected friends,
Two lovers brought closer,
And a father with his child.

Bench on the path,
He’s still in the middle of the woods,
Brimming with memories of animals,
The ones who died,
and the ones who fled,
In the middle of the woods.