First Love.

In the midst of the crowd

A wild girl smiling -

Hair fragrant as forests -

Eyes midsummer blue -

The long handled bag hung over her shoulder

Twisted and swung like a garden swing 

Attached to a swaying bough.

"I wish she would sit next to me" I murmured

Into the depths of my half filled glass.

"I would rather chat until the rafters rattled

Than sit by myself and quaff".

Outside in the night the church bells were ringing.

And lo and behold

Without asking,

Not knowing

How I would react to her forceful presence,

To the weft and the warp of her long winded stories,

& The nervousness

She had buried beneath them,

She sat down so close we were nearly touching

And straight away told me her name.

Dear reader, I did not marry her,

Our love was too strong to make that mistake.

We were not influenced by the church bells ringing.

But the conversation we started that evening

Has continued for half a century or more,

And the warmth of her arm at ease on my shoulder

Recalls that first night when we talked until dawn.

Outside in the darkness the church bells were ringing

To proclaim a miracle that was not ours to name.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter.

May 8th. 2022.