The Boys on the Benches

The Boys on the Benches

I’d see them in springtime, the summer, the fall,

In winter, when sunlight’s reduced to a crawl.

In mornings, when rushing, during afternoon walks,

The boys on the benches, enjoying their talks.

I’d see them, I’d nod, a brief chat or a wave,

And think of their histories, and all that they gave,

As the world continued to revolve and change,

For the boys on the benches, so little was strange.

They’d see us, they’d comment, our own kids now walking.

They’d smile at us, remembering babies, now talking.

Impressions long-forming, their legacies made ,

The boys on the benches, we wish how they’d stayed.

They’re no longer there now, their places are taken,

From dreams of past glories, we all just awaken,

When passing the benches, I’ll offer a nod,

To the memories of Jimmy, Mike, Charlie and Rod.

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