By the Road

So shines the light on yonder bench
Where no one has sat yet this night
Running by, I count at its textures
Boy do I wonder its many depths
How many came to sit and ponder
Those who may have sat down to cry
The many lovers perhaps inscribed in its oak
In the past dusk night of near December
I muse longer on the bench than I should
The man who built it, I reckon is passed on
Though his life's work is left here marking time
If ever someone should tire on the path
That they may stop to consider a course
My own bones perhaps could sit a spell
But running seems mildly less complex
The cool air is amass with unspoken secrets
Though perhaps the bench would hear them
Keep them well sure, like many others before