What was still is, and ever yet shall be.
I loved you first when we were yet quite young;
For hearts, still green, can ache with misery,
And ours each did. Remember how it stung?
I loved your quiet ways (and loud ones too)
And I admit, my first erotic thoughts
Were of how it would be for me and you.
That age where all seems tangled up in knots.
We made attempts – each halting ones, at best;
But every one, meant everything to me
As you did. Of course, you know all the rest.
We grow, we drift, we fight complacency.
I see you now, much as I saw you then —
What was still is, my friend: