Puddingstone Perch

I’ve writ of my final plot; the garden in me trenched.
Don’t lay for me a headstone; but craft me stone bench.

I’ve built my garden graven grove in other yarns.
I won’t repeat those details, for this construct’s my cairn.

The backrest should say “LEVi; He Did His Best…He Tried.
Armrests should have dates; when I was born & when I died.

Come in the gloaming; whilst my garden’s dew is glistening.
One leg says, “Have a seat.”…the other says, “I’m listening.”

True or false, you’ll decide; when you’re sat there in my copse.
Laughing wind rustles leaves…a peach & a penny drop.