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Park Bench, by Britta Benson

Another poem dedicated to a bench. People will start to think I live there. I don’t. I just chose to sit on benches a lot and stare, breathe and observe. Mostly nature. The sea, the hills and the trees don’t seem to mind too much, if I gawped at them open-jawed. People are not tooContinue reading “Park Bench, by Britta Benson”