The Teenager

A backpack and a guitar abandoned
By the walkway in the park
From the nearby creek
Came a sudden cry
Lone teenage boy sat by the water
Concerned passerby refrained from prying
Hundreds reasons for him there, mourning
On a summer evening

Sometimes, the passerby stops
To see his image’s still there, now a man,
Envisioning his happy smile with
The evening’s sorrow has faded into oblivion
Passerby’s memory only lives in the poem

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