First Love - Poem by Ann Beard
“I would like to help”, little more than a whisper,
misty brown eyes turned to stare where I stood.
“I would like to try” the words came out crisper,
resolve filling all of the places it could.
I had watched him struggle to rise from a chair,
had felt the frustration that threatened his calm.
Firmly bracing myself to take on his glare
“I needed to come and I wish you no harm”.
Falling back in the chair his face turning ashen
his body was shrunken to quite half its size.
The illness had robbed him of life’s very passion,
apart from the last spark of fire in his eyes.
“You left years ago” spittle ran as he spoke
“Have you come here to gloat or get even”
A tear forming perfectly threatened to choke,
the words of this man that once I believed in.
“I m here and its only forgiveness I bring
to wipe the slate clean of all sorts of regret.
To remember the past, a passionate fling,
your magic on stage, the night that we met.”
My mind wandered back to the days of romance,
the handsome young man that sang in a band.
Blessed with a voice full of power to entrance
The way I would swoon at the touch of his hand.
His eyes grew bright, “I remember that night”
such a lovely young girl, such a hot invitation.
You captured my heart as I held you tight
we danced cheek to cheek lost in temptation”.
I smiled and was pleased to see him smile too
good memories outlive those that cause pain.
We were lovers a year a love strong and true
until his deceit meant I could not remain.
I held out my hand felt his tremble in mine
for a while we sat silent, in perfect peace.
Memories, ran riot his eyes showed resign,
and his labored breathing did gently cease.
I stood, said goodbye, numb of all thoughts of love,
but on leaving the hospice a youth took my hand.
And with eyes full of tears I turned to the son of
the man who had magic and sang in a band.
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