Summer's Eve

Of many things which I would once proclaim I cannot now assert that I am fond, Although there still remains a pleasant name To which I am in everlasting bond. The skittish rose announcing summer’s eve Is but the first of—Ah!—so many more, And yet I cannot, true to conscience, leave A jewel I have never seen before. Before too long, the field of love is full With many flowers prouder than the first, But such am I: I find all treasures dull If time enshrines a passion I have nursed. No matter when my heart might crave repose, I can’t forget the name of that first rose. Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com