My sixteenth summer love was in the air,
I wore a peasant blouse and purple skirt,
My hair was long, I’d never looked so fair,
The pastor’s son approached me for a flirt.
His flaxen hair fair glistened in the sun,
His witty repartee was in fine form,
It wasn’t long before my heart was won,
That summer was the calm before the storm.
Our courtship was the sweetest I had known,
Each time I went to town I searched for him,
I sought for weeks to claim him as my own,
My love was real; it wasn’t just a whim.
October winds were fierce when first we kissed,
But he was fickle, Cupid’s arrow missed.
About the Creator
Denise Shelton writes on a variety of topics and in several different genres. Frequent subjects include history, politics, and opinion. She gleefully writes poetry The New Yorker wouldn't dare publish.