First Love

She walked the three miles barefoot over broken ground,
knowing she would never again need the designer shoes
stacked neatly in boxes in the vast dressing room;

removed her dress as she walked across the bridge,
dropping the thin sheath of cornflower silk carelessly
into the cool clear river below;

let the warm breeze wash over her as she strode
through the little cottage garden strewn with wildflowers;
scattering her last few remaining doubts amongst the bluebells;

hung her freshly washed bra on a rusty nail by the door,
entered without knocking and slipped quietly
into the fire still burning in the grate.

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