Just for fun, here's a poem I wrote three years ago when my friends gave me random words and challenged me to base some verse on them. So here's 'bench':
Every year we come back here -
look out to sea.
Private memories, shared silence.
He loved it here,
did William.
Who did he think about
when he sat and mused?
What intricacies entwined themselves
in heart and mind?
What puzzles did he turn over
until they were smoothed?
Or maybe we’ve afforded him
an intellectual dignity
that never was.
Maybe he was thinking about
sheds, Ford Escorts and dachshunds.
Or maybe he didn’t think at all.
But whatever he did here,
a dulled plaque proclaims
“He loved this place.”