The man in black with a top hat. No one knew who he was or what he did. Not a word did he speak, yet people seemed to ignore him. Not a thing did he do, yet the villagers stayed home when he walked past. The man who I saw sitting on the bench under the willow tree when I'd be laughing and running in the park. He stayed there, just sitting and watching. He had a spark in his eye. One of empathy and wisdom. He seemed to be waiting for something or someone. Autumns passed then came winters. The blankets of snow covering the ground did not stop him from sitting under the willow tree. Years went by and he grew older, much older, he was not a young gentleman anymore, but a grey-haired old man. Then one day, the man who was once in black with a top hat, vanished.