Writing Group 25: Poem

The miniature benches of Marseille

I see you sit there, innocently,
Beside the fast main road.
From afar, all is fine, it is when I get close,
I notice something not quite right about this public bench.
You are really small, I start to laugh, a tiny place to sit!
What is wrong little bench, haven’t you grown, are you normally like this.
I start to wonder why you are so small, is it for children?
I look around but see no school, no crèche for the infants.
So miniature bench you remain a mystery, but do not worry, I still like you


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