I am a bench beside a street
In a park where you retreat.
I was born from pine
For you to feel fine.

Once, a child who never had had a dream
Sat upon me crying for ice-cream
Bought it for him, his mother.
And he forgot the sober.

Later a boy in his teens
He the child homself, perhaps,
Sat on me with silly dreams
In joy with his friends.

Years after in his teens late
Ice-cream the lovers ate.
Crafted they, the dreams of life
Forgetting the ego-knife of a wife.

Later once, I was blessed
When he sat on me: the Grandold.
And he dreamt his past dreams
Those fertile and futile.

And not a dream one, I ever had.
But now I am a dead wood.
Dreams, I should've made
Once when I was alive.