A native of this land

I am a native of this land whose rolling green chalk hills tumble sparsely wooded into the valleys where you can hear the cuckoos call.

There streams burst forth from the soil and flow effortlessly across the plain gathering strength with ripple and chuckle through watercress beds crossing the town and onward to find the sea.

There on its bank I held hands with you and your warm bare arms inviting a kiss as I made my way up them to finally reach your lips.

Then when we kissed you did not close your eyes as they sparkled with such pleasure but you just wrapped your legs around me.

I gulped with delight for we were both still sixteen and I wanted to be no older but stay like this forever as I was now in love with you.

Sadly moments like this are few and two short months later you were no longer mine, the cuckoo no longer called and autumn winds blew cold as I climbed those hills alone.

Image found at www.whale.to/b/real_good_life.html