Howard Johnson - Empty Chairs

A large willow tree
Still budding
With small leaves
Taking in warmth
and the suns rays

Set back from the
Well traveled street
Narrow lane
leading to
A enchanted white house

Generously shaded
By that starting
Willow tree

Away from it all
Noise and fury

A table mostly white
Its age is shown
By the bleeding rust

Its companions
Too similar chairs
The severity of winter
has left its punishing touch

Their forms
rugged and sound
Years of resting
On that paved brick ground

On the top
A cloth
Of colors
Filled with streaking
Lavander, Crimson and white

On that cloth
For my thirst
A glass dew dripped,
Filled with ice and lemonade

In this beauty
there I sit
With an empty seat
Enjoying the gentleness
Of this place.

Howard Johnson

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/empty-chairs-2/