An old man comes to the park everyday-
strolls in the mornings, sits in the evenings.
He observes people - has little to say
for he dwells on the past and its meaning.
The swings swish, the seesaws go up and down.
Joggers and children run around the park.
Some come looking for romance, some to clown.
And some just loiter around until dark.
He used to sit and soar high on those swings,
and sit on the seesaw with that cute girl.
They would chase butterflies with golden wings,
and eat ice cold candies till their heads swirled.
Now, sitting on the bench memories flow-
Leisurely he mulls over, life runs slow.
