As I sit on this bench, pondering thoughts of my own,
I watch the people passing by, the people on their phones.

My worries and queries engulf my mind,
The list of to do’s grows with time.

But as my focus shifts from concrete grey to grassy green,
I notice a particularly captivating scene.

Those children that play in field and flower,
Have engrossed the imagination for several hours.

One acts like a king, an orange cone atop his head,
Holding a stick as a staff, and ‘I am king” is what he said.

Another wears a bag like a luxurious skirt,
Flowers in her hair picked straight from the dirt.

The kid over there slides up and down the hill,
Riding a sled made of cardboard despite the lack of wind chill.

That girl chases a frog saying “c’mere ya little scamp”,
As she dances a most beautiful ballerina dance.

That boy sits on the ground with pinecones and stones,
He arranges them to form pictures of his cottage-like home.

As I sit on this bench, my mind in a spiral,
I’m wishing I had the minds of those children, just for a while.