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At Seventeen

Rating: 2.7

You were a child, and liked me, yesterday.
To-day you are a woman, and perhaps
Those softer eyes betoken the sweet lapse
Of liking into loving: who shall say?
Only I know that there can be for us
No liking more, nor any kisses now,
But they shall wake sweet shame upon your brow
Sweetly, or in a rose calamitous.
Trembling upon the verge of some new dawn
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6/22/2021 2:52:55 PM # 1.0.0.632