Towering over the bench
many feet high, he's like
a New York scraper, slowly
swaying from side to side as
the wind pushes him. His every instinct
to snap back like over-stretched
rubber. Yet he's solid. Afterall, he has
been standing for over fifty years, never
yet has a gust been husky
enough to snap his hundreds of fibers
banded together holding steady
the magnificent crown.

But every year he enters
into depression, losing all color
and enthusiasm. Failing to bring
cheer to everyone who believes
in him. For months he will stand
in the bitter cold losing precious
memories of warmth and love,
radiance and beauty.

Then, as if it never left, the warm
wind rushes in hugging him and
swaying him from left to right.
Reminding him of all the good times
and putting color back in his cheeks.
Soon he brings joy to all who come
to relax around him. Protecting
and comforting the angry ones who
just had heated fights, and instilling
hope in those who find comfort
in his unwavering stability.

After a few months, the bone
snapping chill will be back and
he will again have to survive

the worst. Knowing

without despair, Joy means nothing.

03/29/2004

Posted on 11/08/2004
Copyright © 2024 S. Pelham Flood