Therese Gramercy . . . the girl named Trees

Empty trellis

Sweet Pea

A sweet pea one day,
but forgotten the next,
what happened for this to change,
is the puzzle that has left me perplexed.

Though our dinner was delightful,
lunch was far better from a brown sack,
shared while perched on a metal workbench,
dust in your hair, a worn t-shirt on your back.

But that was some time ago,
when your love was my dream,
a cherished snapshot in my memory,
back when I was your sweet pea.