First love is the beautiful blossoms
of wild flowers in the spring,
And then it becomes the green
meadows of summer,
And as it draws to an end,
It becomes first
the falling of the leaves in fall
and then the cold hibernation
of winter...
But do not fear
for there is always a hope of a new spring,
For with death there comes a birth eternal in its promise,
Balanced only in time,
Yet in that memory
another year begins.
July 3, 2000
By: B.E. Whitehorn & Tosha Bouwer
Author notes
Written January 15th, 2002
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First love seems to hold all we think love is, then later we learn more about love and realize that, as beautiful as it was, first love may not be all it's cracked up to be. When we experience we then know the real meaning of love, true love.
First love will always remain something very special in our lives, though, as it should
A very good write, Bill
Dee
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oh wow. this is extremely pretty. and so true as well
very touching. I did enjoy!
-Angel
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Thank you both eiramarie & sullengirl !
Glad you enjoyed the read ! -
I think the seasons you used are right on.. this is a WONDERFUL poem and so full of hope!
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I've yet to experience it like you put it, but your poem makes it sound wonderful. Nice work.
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