I searched for the bench,
On Stephen's Green,
Where we sat.
Our touch was so intense then,
Full of future.

I found it today.
So many decades later,
Tried to recapture that memory.
All there is now,
Is the smell of fast food restaurants,
Serving takeaway moments,
And squabbling seagulls.

You asked me to stay then,
To make love.
But I was in a rush,
Had a train to catch,
To the past.
Funny how that even catches up on you.