Green, grass.

Soft glades of green grass,
The evening sun warm,
Sky swimmingly blue,
That’s the day I met you.

‘Oi’, you said, blocking my sun,
I looked at the floor, you wasn’t done,
‘Where’s ya brother.’
I heard you mutter.

You talked for a bit,
Right there where I sit.
Then wandered away,
Till the very next day.

A knock at the door,
She looked at the floor,
Curly brown hair
Why was she there.

A decoy of sorts,
To avoid clever thoughts,
So my brother wouldn’t know,
I happily went with the flow.

Irish in your veins,
even your name,
Your voice made me swoon,
As we watched that full moon.

Your fingers touched mine,
we drank ouzo not wine,
Laid in a church garden,
our friendship, hardened.

The summer went fast,
It wasn’t our last.
Our paths intertwined,
you never became mine.

The secrets caught up a few years
Ahead, and my brother said never,
Not even if dead.

You held my soft heart,
We had come so far,
whispered goodbye,
Both of us cried.