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By Randy Rich
Other Poems by Randy Rich




This was March, blossoms

on the apple tree,

flowered islands of painted light,

iridescent bells of spring.   

She was my first love,

first kiss: soft and olive skin,

her brown hair scented

with salt and the sea.

We stayed on the coast, suspended

with the moon, built castles

against the tides, strolled at night

through an ocean of stars.

In spring I dream of her,

red lips, cinnamon eyes, her soft

hands unfolding to reveal her treasure

of broken shells.      


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Submitted: Thursday, April 2, 2009

Last Updated: Friday, April 3, 2009

About the Poet
I am married and have two beautiful children. I am a Professional Christian Counselor and Director of services for children at a local community mental health center.

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