This is the oak under which I sit,
When I contemplate the world a bit.
I watch the people passing by,
Look for emotions I can identify.
Guess their jobs, their hopes, their dreams,
Speculate about their plans and schemes.
On days when I find myself alone,
I cogitate on plans of my very own.
The lampost somehow illuminates,
For me, both past and future dates.
It literally sheds light on the park and me,
But metaphorically, also, my history.
The past has made me who I am,
Like some complicated diagram.
Yet as I sit here I can choose
How I cut my jib and wear my shoes.
The world’s my oyster on this bench,
I want to grasp it, I’ve got a thirst to quench!
© Caro Ness 2015