The Oleanders smelled so sweet

as home from school we, hand in hand,

walked and talked of childish things

and felt our friendship grow to love.

Then jeers and laughter spoilt our dream.

To love was shameful, not for us –

who  were just children in a world

where cruelty was part of life.

 

So we denied this strange new love.

A love not like a forest fire

but rather as a match, intensely bright.

That hurt as deeply then as it would now.

A sweet, warm flush that thrilled my heart,

when hand met hand in fleeting touch or clasp.

In that brief ecstasy of secret love

for us to hold and cherish in the breast.

 

Oh what a sorrow that to hate or scorn

was more important than our flowering love.

And that our shame could make us fear

the jeering of our youthful friends.

 

 

David Garlick, Victoria, May 1989