The Final Winter

I’ve come upon empty benches,
A scattering of voices and dreams,
Once filled with people in love,
Now empty; burned black,
Sitting sorely in pools of sooty water.

Winter’s ice burned the benches,
Scorching the plantings’ blooms,
Each struggling for a spurt of growth,
Colorful roses of red and yellow,
Begging for a sliver of sun.

I pray for one more day,
A green-stemmed finger of blessing,
Before the sun turns black,
Just one more day,
To bleach the millennial stones.