I sit upon a park bench,
And I think in comfort's rest
Of all the chairs I've ever seen,
The bench has got it best.

The bench, though now quite old,
Must know his business well.
To lie in wait for some old man
To sit down for a spell.

Or maybe it's a young boy,
With an ice cream, overfilled.
The bench, with patience, never yells
If boy leaves his treat spilled.

Perhaps it's lovers sitting
Stealing kisses without stealth,
But the bench will not feel lonely
Despite being by himself.

Oh, the stories he could tell,
If he ever learned to speak.
Through wind and rain and sunny day,
He sits, mellow and meek.

I wish I were a park bench,
Meet new people every day,
And just sit and support them
Until we must part ways.

But I am just a person,
I am selfish, scared, unfit.
And this bench will forgive me,
All I must do is sit.