I have no legs to walk the earth, though many rely on my steady frame, I sit in silence through the park, a simple resting place by name. I hold the weight of weary souls, of lovers whispering in the park, And watch the changing of the guard from morning light to sudden dark. I might be made of stone or wood, of iron cast or slatted pine, A place to pause and read a book, or watch the passing clouds align. Though I am stationary here, in courts of law my word is gold, And athletes wait upon my length until their strategy is told.

I wait where silent choices keep their line, a crooked shape that hints at a design. I borrow form from what can’t stand, Then I fade when it returns to hand. My purpose lost when cloth grows spine, I return to shadows mute and fine.

Liquid gold, sludge of bones. I keep engines churning, furnaces burning, vehicles driving and politicians spurning.

I dance in curls of silk and lace, bringing every gift more grace. Though tied with care for all to see, one gentle tug unfastens me.

Fresh and warm, flavors galore. Blueberry, banana nut, and so many more.