Introduction for Where First Love waits:
There are some roads that never truly close behind us – quiet boreens we walked long ago, where the grass still holds the impression of our steps, and sunlight still falls just so on hawthorn and hedge. This poem began in one such place:a summer when I was a teenager and the world felt both very large and very small, all at once.
It tells of a first love that was bright, wild, and brief – yet never broken. It was never written to be a story of forever romance; instead it honours something rarer still: How that early spark can soften and settle into a lifelong friendship, as steady as the land itself. Here and there I have woven in words from the Irish language, I am still learning – For this pplace, and this memory, belong as much to óir and talamh as they do to me.
No one stays the same, and few path stays straight forever. But the lane does not forget. And what burned bright in youth does not depart – it waits, quiet and true, deep within the heart.
“The lane does not forget – and what burned bright does not depart”
Glossary:
Irish Word Pronunciation Guide
óir OR [Gold]
Talamh TAL-uv [Land]
crann KRAWN [ Tree]
i gcroíthe istigh ih KREE-ha IS-tee [Deep within Hearts]
Where First Love Waits :
I walked the lane as I walked before,
long grass tangled where the seasons wore -
the evening sun spilled óir that day,
on hedges high and hawthorn grey.
A girl, all laughter, bright and free,
Took my hand beneath the tree;
My thoughts forgot their careful place,
I simply followed smile and grace.
Butterflies drifted bloom to bloom,
We wandered through the fern and broom;
When first we kissed the world grew light,
I lost myself within her eyes, so bright.
Talamh breathed soft around our steps,
bees hummed low where clover creeps -
she chased a wren, then turned to grin,
and all my quiet world began to spin.
Cows lowed low beyond the hedge,
A farm dog barked from field's far edge;
Birds filled branch and leaf with song,
Yet none of it could draw us free.
She climbed the old stone wall to run;
I thought: what bright wild gift you'd become.
My young heart reached no further far -
It needed only where you are.
That summer turned; the day slipped by,
We walked apart beneath one sky;
Yet love does not where roads divide,
It stays, i gcroíthe istigh.
And this lane keeps what we once knew -
footsteps faint, and morning dew -
what burned bright does not depart:
first love lives in friend and memory.
Copyright © 2026 Pat Fitzgerald
All Rights Reserved
“The lane does not forget – and what burned bright does not depart”
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