Poetry
But, who feels the hush of future-in-the past?
A rabbit in the bush, his heart when he’d greet
The lover’s smile, at little distance, at the last,
To see that Nature's charms would be so sweet;
With an orange in his hand, or maybe this nosegay
Of tender recollections that would tiptoe,
But, he had been at their date, a man of clay.
And all he’d thirsty see -those eyes of the roe.
Because that orange afternoon’s desire was in debt,
And she -a lady dear, like dressed in the air all:
And golden shoes! -a princess from a fairy tale:
”I cannot stay too much” -a clock of his empty soul.
”I have a problem with my shoes” -and he, so sad,
That quickly, she would add: ”but not so bad.”
The hush of each first love would ever last,
Even with awkward poets belonging to the past.
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