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First Love

He meets you at the mill-gate, thinking to
Pass by, but caught in your winsome trap,
Stops to gaze and fumble for silly words,
You smile in easy triumph at his loss,
Found in this strangely glad encounter,
And wait, perhaps remembering with
Irony the many others who bent to your will.
Now here this tongue-tied boy squirms
But does not want to go free. He listens
To the beat of a heart, edged with fervour.
He dare not move, for then he’ll reveal
The turmoil of uncontrollable passion
Which with violent twists tumbles
Its way through broken, bleeding flesh.

4 Comments Post a comment
  1. There is a charming innocence in this story-poem. To me it speaks of the time when I was growing up…not sure that today’s youth are the same. Guess I sound like an old lady, huh?

    August 22, 2011
    • Yes! I don’t compare myself to him, but do you know Thomas Hardy’s poetry? Thanks for the comment.

      August 22, 2011
  2. worninshoes #

    You’ve captured a bubble inside a bright balloon! Splendid.

    September 22, 2011
    • Thank you very much for your comment. Have you checked my collection of poetry – or rather extracts from it – https://grimke.wordpress.com/2011/06/15/fr/

      September 22, 2011

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