“The most beautiful thing about young love is
the truth in our hearts that will last forever.”
Atticus
I was a woman-child
Of seventeen, and
You were a man
Of twenty-one
When I found you.
I've often wondered
Did you find me, too?
For two months
We worked closely
Together,
For two months
I wore my heart
On my sleeve.
I came to know you,
Your laughter,
Your youthful arrogance,
Even your body
That I dressed
And undressed
For each show.
Your eyes were warm
When you smiled at me
And they sparkled
When you teased me,
But how they sharpened
Like glass
When you thought
I was threatened!
For weeks I dreamed
And I cried,
How could you not know
How I felt?
But I think now
That you did,
And as I look back
I see things
Only a woman grown
Can see,
Nuances
That only age
And experience
Can appreciate.
I don't know
How deeply you felt
But I now believe
I wasn't alone
In those feelings.
Did you love me
As I loved you?
Perhaps,
Perhaps not,
But there was something
Between us
And still
A part of me cries.
Oh!
If only
I hadn't been seventeen
And you twenty-one.
There is a certain longing in this poem that comes through very emotionally. The sign of a very good writer and poet.
But what's wrong with 17 and 21? Are you just using it as a straw to point blame?
My mother was 17 and my father was 21 when their love created twins and me. If they thought they were too young, my brother and I might've been sent to an orphanage instead of growing up with a young couple struggling to make enough money but always happy, even to invite her sister 5 years later.
Share
Print
Save
Follow
But what's wrong with 17 and 21? Are you just using it as a straw to point blame?
My mother was 17 and my father was 21 when their love created twins and me. If they thought they were too young, my brother and I might've been sent to an orphanage instead of growing up with a young couple struggling to make enough money but always happy, even to invite her sister 5 years later.
Ron
And oh, ’tis true, ’tis true.