The Poetry of First Love
Was yesterday so long ago, a distance
quickly traveled, much of life gone by? The
world was perfect and we were happy —
a time of discovery, of sweet promise and
the youthful music of love and joy.
Now as we carry the years of long life would we
remember such times, if we were to meet again?
Would it be awkward? Will memories touch
or will they have faded? Would we be strangers,
having moved to our faraway time of life,
our hearts worn? How might we think of
the way we were at that exciting time? Would
we recall the tenderness of those days, the
serendipity of young love, its light long since
dimmed by a thousand sighs?
If we were to meet again would we be eager to
revisit the perfect world of our youth? Would we
greet each other with nervous smiles? Might we be
uneasy, hesitant, one expecting the other to speak?
Would we take a moment to reacquaint, compose
ourselves, allow feelings to release, open up
the stories of our lives?
At day’s end might we relive an hour or so of our
youthful happiness — rekindle our shared affinity?
Could we be so bold as to hold hands and stroll
the path along the lake, search our memories,
laugh and cry as we recall the heartfelt lyrics of
our avowals, so poetically expressed?
It was our perfect world, so long ago. A time
to be cherished, no matter the distance of time,
no matter how few our remaining days.
Once upon a time we passed through yesterday,
young and in love — first love.
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Young love. First love.