‘Neath the olive tree
In scalding summer heat
We’d both seek refuge,
And look at the sea.
Your cheeks were roseate;
A fruit ripe for picking.
And did I harvest,
And did I steal
Your roseate blush
And turned it cherry red
With a kiss.
‘Twas a brief kiss,
‘Twas a chance encounter too;
Now, looking back,
I can only wish I’d told you
How much
I loved you.