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Sitting on the very last bench, I saw in front of me.
I was, my dear, on the love spree.
I feel like the Oxygen producing tree.
You looked behind, I died once with your eye like dagger.
I looked at you to make you feel my heart.
I know that your breathing was enough to clean dirt.
Smile you back if once in this lifetime,
You touched the bench made of wood,
My heart skipped many beats that felt good.
Sitting on the back bench, I was thinking.
I would say always that I had loved you.
Sitting on the back bench, It’s hidden but absolutely True!

