Sanity of a nobody

I sit on a cold park bench,
rusted by the harsh passage of time,
and I wonder when I will be mine.
Wind blows heartily across the land,
the trees taking up its movement
in a soft, mournful song.
The sun gingerly looks across my way
and seems to remind me
I am not alone,
and with that,
that gentle solace,
I take up my paper,
rise
and return to my day.