The park at night stirs with
fearful rustling in the trees.
Bats and foxes and no love
for the young single mother
make rest hard here.


Here the chill breeze gives life
to a bit of white litter.
It carouses with the leaves
in a place that in daylight
doesn't glisten.


A seat of honour
for the name it bears
was chosen for this place.
It is not appreciated
by the passers-by by day or by
the name the years passed by,
but if you sit still here
in a moment of dark reflection,
your gaze is directed by its facing
and attentive eyes
catch dragonflies
by the timeless pond
and consider daffodils
at various stages of their lives,
and the dead patron
feels close by,
on the breath of the night air
as nature wearily sighs.