The funny looking little man
in the pointed hat sat on the bench.
Nobody paid him much mind,
mostly because he wasn't there,
yet there he sat
waiting for something that would never arrive.
Whenever someone sat down beside him
he'd lean over and whisper in their ear,
"For what is it you wish,"
and sometimes they'd answer back.
He still had yet to hear the perfect wish.
So, still he waits, and if you
ever find yourself on a seemingly
empty bench and the wind whispers its question
its best not to answer
because the odds are not high
that you'll make the perfect wish.
David Huzzard Writes 