A bench

Evergreens blowing in the wind
One of the few signs of natural life
Seen while sitting on a park bench in Winter
Watching traffic flow to and fro
Much like a ballet
Seen for the hundredth time
When nothing new can be picked up
But the repetition
Has begun to bore
Even the dancers on the stage

No people out
Walking their leashed pets
Actually no animals at all
Besides the dead ones
Hit by traffic
That did not stop
Just continued its never ending dance
Coasting along
On a course
To nowhere