Old young love

Old, Young, Love

She sang her heart out;

The rest wondered

How it would be

To have all eyes on them.

Like a fireplace

Her voice burned,

Through heat spat

Words that felt

Only too well the meaning.

There was no need

To sing of love,

It was already clear-

Transparent eyes,

Wanting fingers that

Graced the strings like

They were a child.

Perhaps she wanted

Others to hear, to know

What is was to be 

Young, and to

Hurt, for she knew

At some point

Everyone had been

There, even her

Grandmother who

Sat at the back-

The age of her skin

Creased with pride.