Sea-green, her eyes and long red hair
that shone like bronze towards twilight.
Her laughter, a peal of utter delight;
In my mind she was Irish.
She refused my adolescent passion
I was too young for her.
And I said: if you will not be my love
I will join the merchant navy.
It was winter, snow fell on the docks where
the ship was moored, but she was not
there to bid farewell.
We met again when we both were
middle-aged, her eyes still green, but not
as verdant as the sea.
A melancholic smile, both married twice
and we knew about regrets.
