I wish I could remember the first day,
First hour, first moments of your meeting me;
If bright or dim the season, it might be.
Summer or Winter for aught I can say,
So unrecorded did it slip away.
So blind was I to see and to foresee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree,
That would no blossom for many a May.
If only I could recollect it! Such
A day of days! I let it come and go
As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow.
It seemed to mean so little, meant so much!
If only now I could recall that touch,
First touch of hand in hand! - Did one but knows!
-William Roetzheim.The Giant Book Of Poetry. Level Four Press Inc, 2014