Oh golden lad, where are you now?
I hope not gone to dust below
the ground, or into the last fire.
You were the all of my desire
when you were young, so long ago.
It was thirty-seven years ago
we first locked eyes. How could we know
that swift passion would not expire,
oh golden lad?
And yet we always had to go:
too soon, too far each parting. So
those flames were not to flare higher.
Nor yet would they die down entire —
as you too, if you live, will know,
oh golden lad.
November PAD Chapbook Challenge 2010: 10
Prompt: a love poem
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