waiting on that lonely bench

this poem is about an old lady who waits for her son to come home from war not knowing the fact that he has died.all alone sitting on a bench she stays for years and years

The old lady on the bench

Summer air all bright and blue,

With morning stars that’s shining too,

On the lonely bench you ought to see,

A lady aged ninety to ninety three.

 

The air is warm and so is light,

But she seems hardly able to fight,

With something tugging inside her heart,

Like looking at a piece of art.

 

Sitting on the lonely bench,

With sweetest flowers and sweeter stench,

Of wrinkled flowers cold and dead,

Lying around the sandy bed.

 

An old lady with a flower,

Waiting with all her feeble power,

Crying tears of ice so mild,

Waiting for her only child.

 

Three or four or fifty years,

A very long time to shed her tears,

Her hopes are on one to stay alive,

For the only child who never arrives.

Osal Wickremasinghe