We were teenagers then, or so it seemed
Full of the burning passion of youth
And warm like a woollen blanket by the fire
Ticking clocks mattered not
When the only truth we knew was
The prickling of the hay from the horse’s byre
Tangled and knotted in your ruffled hair
I plucked it out, strand by strand
And buttoned your tattered shirt once more
It wouldn’t do if they discovered our love
Not yet at least, until hand-in-hand
We could face the deafening roar
But we were teenagers then, or so they say
Now our paper compliments, tossed on the
Embers of a dying fire, they smoulder away.
April 2022
Mar 11
Mar 11, 2026 at 3:23 PM UTC
We were teenagers then, or so it seemed
Full of the burning passion of youth
And warm like a woollen blanket by the fire
Ticking clocks mattered not
When the only truth we knew was
The prickling of the hay from the horse’s byre
Tangled and knotted in your ruffled hair
I plucked it out, strand by strand
And buttoned your tattered shirt once more
It wouldn’t do if they discovered our love
Not yet at least, until hand-in-hand
We could face the deafening roar
But we were teenagers then, or so they say
Now our paper compliments, tossed on the
Embers of a dying fire, they smoulder away.
April 2022
