THE BENCH BESIDE THE SEA

THE BENCH BESIDE THE SEA

She sat there every week.
Upon the same old seat.
And watched the rolling waves.
Come curling round her feet.

She always came alone.
With coffee in her hand.
And watched the morning sun.
Rise slowly from the sand.

The bench belonged to them.
Or that was what she said.
They found it years ago.
When both were newly wed.

They talked for many hours.
Of everything they knew.
They planned their growing old.
And all they hoped to do.

They watched their children grow.
They watched the seasons turn.
They laughed at silly things.
And had their rows to learn.

Then one cold winter day.
He quietly slipped away.
And all the words she had.
Were things she could not say.

The house became too still.
His chair was always bare.
She sometimes called his name.
Forgetting he was not there.

So every Sunday morn.
She walked towards the sea.
And sat upon their bench.
Where they had loved to be.

She told him all her news.
About the week gone by.
She sometimes gave a laugh.
She sometimes had a cry.

She knew he was not there.
At least not like before.
But somehow on that bench.
She felt him there once more.

One morning came a bird.
And settled by her side.
It stayed there quietly.
And never tried to hide.

She smiled and whispered, well.
You took your bloody time.
The little bird looked up.
As though it heard the line.

She shared her little cake.
And watched it eat each crumb.
Then whispered to the bird.
I knew that you would come.

The bird flew towards the sea.
And vanished in the blue.
She watched it disappear.
And somehow felt he knew.

She stood and touched the bench.
Then smiled towards the sea.
I will be back next week.
Keep that seat warm for me.