old and weathered by the rain;
both the man and wood is branded
by life and time’s injurious stains.
His gray eyes flicker to the path,
where he dreams she will appear;
a girl who left so long ago,
and yet ‘til now, he still holds dear.
When he was young, here he would sit;
with the girl that went away;
the park bench then shone out so new;
while now both bench and man are gray.
Here he waits out light and shadow;
ten then twenty winters passed;
and all who looked at him would wonder:
will the girl return at last?
And the man is still there sitting,
gray eyes shine a moment more;
weary now, he closed his eyelids
and then he saw his much adored.
Spoiler
Saw The Script Live! And was inspired to write.
