Yours is not the only butt
To grace my well-worn surface,
Cast weary eye
And smile with signal purpose.
Precious few will spare a thought,
When putting down their carcass,
With heart-felt sigh
Or moaning cry
Complaining ’bout my hardness.
Diverse dimensions are the bods,
Who come to seek some respite here,
From raking lean
To rotund mean,
Toady toddlers through advancing years.
Well trod walkway much has caught;
Ably sheltered by brother tree,
Resolved. and consummated be.
Not only is my comfort sought
By weary walkers but their dogs,
Upon my state,
Leaving me all sullied and agog.
I am here, this is my lot,
Firm and strong,
Constancy my enduring stance.
©Late Harvest 2009