I hardly noticed the glimpse of gray in your hair, <br />I thought it made you look distinguished <br />and it made me feel safe <br />when we Sunday strolled <br />the picture perfect park <br />and, there, made a picnic of our love... <br /> <br />Captivated by your sad guitar <br />and how your hands looked strong enough <br />to strum away my every fear... <br />I would pay the price of any admittance ticket <br />Now, just to hear your tender tone <br />But I was far too young then... <br />unassuming and dangerously defiant... <br />wasteful, when we were young, on Walnut Street <br /> <br />We forgot to count the hours, <br />and never minded the afternoon sunshowers <br />on days you'd leave work early <br />famished for my kisses.... <br />We never even bought a bed... <br />Instead we made due, and made love <br />in the makeshift caccoon of body heat <br />Our synchronicity of breathe <br />swayed us into slumber.... <br /> <br />Foolish formulation drew us apart <br />and there were fewer trips to the art museum <br />And eventually your guitar sought another muse <br />I searched the stars, for a roadmap <br />back to my New York skyline... <br />And left regrettably, without knowing <br />What it would be like to grow old with you.... <br />When we were young on Walnut Street<br /><br />Susan Lacovara<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-we-were-young-on-walnut-street/
