Fifty Eight Years Are Past
I’ve heard it said,
first true love is
love never to be
forgotten.
If this be the case,
though fifty-eight
years having gone,
I then am living
testament insomuch
as not a day has passed
where my mind
has not imaged,
no matter how swift
the thought,
not a day has passed
without the remembrance
of the girl, then sixteen,
that so entwined the
heart of this boy then
seventeen.
Fifty-eight years of absence,
I know,
changes the sound
and sight of even one so
dearly loved that::
I and the lady in line,
oh, a year or two younger
than me, speak of the
headline of a gossip rag
and both laugh at the
absurdity,
as who really
cares of the ridiculous
antics of this or of any
out of touch celebrity?
I and the lady in line have a
friendly, comical conversation
then she pays what is due
and the lady and I say our
goodbyes and with not a
backward glance,
the cart she holds wheels
from out the store and I
and the lady part,
more than likely
for ever more.
A year or two younger,
the departing lady brings
thought of the one that
had never left my mind
and though I know the lady
in line
is not the girl from out my
past!
The lady in line
could not be the girl from out my
past!
But, in truth,
the lady in line could be the girl from
out my past as she,
then sixteen,
and me,
then seventeen,
as now,
fifty-eight years are past,
how would I know her face?
How would she know my face?
The lady in line?
The old lady in line
could be the girl
from out the past.
The lady in line
the old lady in line
could be the girl
from out the past,
when she,
then sixteen
and me,
then seventeen
this lady in line
could be the girl
from out the past.
The lady in line?
As she would not know my face
as I would not know her face,
this lady in line could be the girl
this now old man has never forgotton.
The lady in line,
this old lady in line
could be the girl
this now old man has never forgotten,
this old man has always loved.
