As the strip of fire edges its way
Over the backcloth of night's dark bay,
And makes horizon afterglowed
With sunset's bed of reds, echoed,
I think of the first time with you.
As the while collared waves, washed clean
And unrollling themselves, give meaning
To romantic scenes as this, gliding
Atop waiting sands, shyly uniting,
I think of the first time with you.
This rope of togetherness might
Well snap under stress of being too tight,
So must be loosened, yet until then,
As I feel the bond of need again,
I think of the first time with you.
Fay Slimm
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-first-time-36/
