My first love sat upon a tree.
He saw an apple garden and said
it would be his.
So there was a quick conclusion
and the owner let it free.
My first love had the garden and all
that was within.
The apple garden flourished,
my first love made it brim.
A beautiful apple garden that
was called my first love’s thing.
Then my first love had a problem
that called for urgent need.
So he went on a long hard journey,
but brought back a fright indeed.
He called them foreign seeds
from way across the sea.
My first love had it planted
beside the apple garden.
The foreign seeds grew and
outshined the apple garden.
Its seeds robust and fine,
it caught my first love’s eye.
My first love forsook the garden,
he preferred the foreign tree.
He abandoned the apple garden
and it gradually died within.
So my first love failed the owner
of the beautiful apple garden.
My first love was consumed by
the foreign seeds he grew, and
everyday I sigh when I remember
my first love’s life. . .
Theodora, 16, is a young poet, she writes from Middlesbrough, UK. Email: firstname.lastname@example.org
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