First Love, Page 1 Of 2 Poem by John Bliven Morin

I had an affair,
A passionate thing,
Free of care;
A summer fling,
With youthful gleam,
Not very clever,
When summers seem
To last forever.

Running, sighing,
Through the trees,
Our hair flying
In the breeze;
Now walking,
Now standing still;
Me talking
By the old mill.

Her apple delight;
She nuzzles my hair,
My lady white,
My Gypsy mare;
Not really mine,
But borrowed bliss;
Ah, fleeting time!
Briefest kiss.

Bowers above,
When I was eight,
We shared a love,
My Gypsy great;
Kindest heart,
White like snow;
We had to part
So long ago.

In heavenly fields
Of clover gold,
Where ills are healed
And none grow old,
I hope that you
Are running free,
All young and new,
So beautifully.