First Love

There was a garden of desire Wherein bloomed my first love. The thought of it sets me afire. I sense it was conceived above. She was young, and so was I. We were late to love’s lure. I felt without her I would die. She felt the same, sweetly pure. We quickly learned to act out In embrace, kiss, and, more The ecstasies on love’s route. Hence love forever we swore. But we were spring-garden green, Too young to flower for years. Still her memory bears a bright sheen That lights my fire with rooted tears.