Sixteen.... Poem by John Tansey

When I was sixteen and it was Spring,
I met in a park under the umbrella
of a tree in the rain,
a lithe, young Hindu girl
named Shanta;
It was my first and last kiss.

She promised to meet me the next day.
I returned, she did not
I walked by her home
and stood under the tree every day
for a week,
then once a month for a year,
then once a year through the rest of my life.

And since losing her face in the bodies
of other women,
I learned this...
that the days of love

are less then the years of their loss!