Old Bench

A  bench sits in a corner of our garden, we dare not sit on it though, for it is very old and rickety,   it’s once red stained slats are now gray and brittle.   Although, the birds and squirrels don’t seem to mind it’s state of disrepair.

Through the Goldenrod

Because its myriad glimmering plumes Like a great army’s stir and wave; Because its golden billows blooms, The poor man’s barren walks to lave: Because its sun-shaped blossoms show How souls receive the light of God, And unto earth give back that glow I thank him for the Goldenrod. ~Lucy Larcom