My Late Love

I miss the love we used to share,
Snoozing whilst he played with my hair,
Kissing my nose to wake me up,
Making tea in my favourite cup.

When we were young we were so free,
Spending whole days being lazy,
Cuddling up on the old blue couch,
Tickling me as I laugh; ‘Ouch!’

When I see young couples in love,
I feel him with me from above,
Memories start to come flooding back,
He’s guided me along this track.

I think about what we once had,
The fact he’s not here makes me sad,
He was my first love. I, his last,
I wish that he had never passed.

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Sunday Afternoon

It was bright and breezy on a Sunday ‘noon, they strolled in hand in hand,
the smiles on their faces and the depth in their eyes, as if everything was unplanned,

It was warm and sunny on a Sunday ‘noon, and she followed him inside,
the wrinkles by her brows and the curve in his smile, he looked at her and sighed,

It was dry and crispy on a Sunday ‘noon, and he pushed her in her chair,
the colour of her skin was oh so pale, and the grey shade of her hair,

It was cold and frosty on a Sunday ‘noon, he wandered in alone,
the sadness in his face was harrowing, where was the woman he once had known?

Seasons come, seasons go, but love will never die,
There’s a first love and a last love,
But for some it’s harder to say goodbye.