In that first perfect summer, that summer of love

when rifles bloomed and we turned on

and so nearly dropped out

in that year we met

and in the sun

we loved

despite clouds

that threatened us

and sought to break our love

a sad weight of parental love turned on

our first perfect summer, our first summer of love

In that first perfect summer, that summer of love

when we were complete in ourselves

and held each other close

in that year we let

no authority

of parent

no censure

move in our world

so for all they tried to drive

a wedge between our hearts it was

our first perfect summer, our first summer of love

 

"Who breaks a Butterfly upon a Wheel?" Alexander Pope: 'Epistle to Dr Arbuthnot' Ll.304 (January 1735)