The river in shallows murmured and chattered,
In deep pools, sighing, swishing, and swirling.
The sun blazing down on great patches of gold.
The Gorse bushes popping, their seed pods exploding.
While the Broom gently swayed, wafting its perfume
On the delicate touch of the breeze from the river.

Nature could not have been kinder
That day, as we walked in its splendour.
We shyly held hands - it was our first meeting.
Then we sat on the grass in quiet conversation.
Long pauses, deep sighs, then trickles of words,
Nervous laughs, like the sounds of the river
As it flowed past our feet.

We turned to each other with lips slightly pouting,
Both of us nervous of that very first kiss.
Our lips barely touched, like a butterfly flutter,
Or was it a puff from the wind on the river?
Your sweet tiny face seemed mounted in gold,
Eyes open wide and Kingfisher blue.

New love, young love, needs time to mature,
But we drifted apart, then found love once again.
True love, mature love, but not with each other.
Yet still the Broom, its perfume heart stopping,
And the Golden Gorse goes on pleasing,
Down by the river, for other lovers walking,
Just as it did when we were so young.