The birds holler “coos” and “caws” in delight,
The squirrels pounce on the newly damp lawn,
The trees swing backward and forward, not wanting a fight
With the harsh new wind, born from the new dawn.
 
The leaves roll around the cobble stone path,
The swing moves slightly from forward to back,
The sky still unlit from the aftermath
Of nightfall that sets the whist tone with black.
 
The sun glimmers brightly every day,
And it warms up the coolness of my face.
This is typical of a day in May,
As the pollen stains leave a yellow trace.
 
I absorb the routine within the park,
Since I sit on this bench, from light to dark.