First Love
There was a garden of desire
Wherein bloomed my first love.
The thought of it sets me afire.
I sense it was conceived above.
She was young, and so was I.
We were late to love’s lure.
I felt without her I would die.
She felt the same, sweetly pure.
We quickly learned to act out
In embrace, kiss, and, more
The ecstasies on love’s route.
Hence love forever we swore.
But we were spring-garden green,
Too young to flower for years.
Still her memory bears a bright sheen
That lights my fire with rooted tears.
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