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SUNDAY PARK BENCH -Promote Yourself



Rumpled newspaper in hand

Sits the old man,

Cold morning air sends a chill

Through a heavy overcoat,

Sunday morning light filtering

Through burnished leaves of autumn

Kindling thoughts of Sundays long gone,

Waking next to his wife,

The sound of children filling the house;

Now children grown – wife gone,

Sunday mornings bring only rumpled papers

On a park bench,


Walt Trizna

Although I now live in a small town, I have lived in many large cities.  I have witnessed the subject of this poem time and time again.  I’m sure you have too. 


This poem was published in Quality American Poetry, 1975-1976, Book III.

The anthology was published by Valley Publications and edited by William Lloyd Griffin.

About poetreecreations

I am an author writer publisher web administrator I run poetry workshops in the community. My published Manners childrens poetry book can be found at

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