He Must Have Been Eighteen
I think he must have been eighteen.
He was as fragile as a dream,
Strong as a man.
Seeing the summer in his eyes,
I felt my autumn as it flies
Like grains of sand.
I added make-up to my face,
As if to cover some disgrace;
I saw him smiling.
Rainbows and colours of the spring,
I would have given anything
To win his loving.
I think he must have been eighteen,
A movie star on any screen,
It made him careless.
He never said a word of love,
He thought that speaking about love
Was only worthless.
And then as if the line were new,
He simply whispered, ‘I want you
Let’s stay together.’
We drifted slowly through the night,
I never knew a love more right,
Not since, not ever.
I think he must have been eighteen,
It made him vain and almost mean;
His looks abusing.
Without a word he slowly dressed
Leaving me to my loneliness,
My share of losing.
I could have tried to make him mine,
I let him go without a sign;
My face was lying.
He said, ‘I am not the kind to fall
Love is for grown-ups after all.’
I felt like crying.
I added make-up to my face,
As if to cover some disgrace;
I saw him smiling.
I had forgotten in a dream
That I was almost twice eighteen.
