A coveted bench in the shade,
In my world,
means that I’ve got it made,
For tomorrow
will be, I’m afraid,
Much too
hot, so I wouldn’t have stayed.
But today, I
can watch the parade
On the river,
as boats are displayed
And
attention, of course, must be paid,
To the
pigeons, who visit, dismayed
That I offer
no crumbs in a trade.
Still, I
hope, as my rhymes start to fade,
That my
writing has somehow conveyed
Just how
peaceful is all I’ve surveyed.
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