The Bench

It's hidden among leaves and foliage sloped on that sandy hill, where lovers come to meet: Here far above our stumbling cries. Now look down upon the face of it all, among the swirling furrows lies none a familiar one. For nights have come and days have gone time's soldiers having long marched on, left this mark while't was still young. And I'll see the day no sooner come, when dreams that where etched forever... are lost in an instant, to a moment past. By garble