From Pop Sonnets. Published by Quirk Books in 2019.

In bygone days, I purchas’d my first lute,
then strumm’d its strings until my fingers bled.
I form’d a modest troupe that ne’er took root,
for James bow’d out and Jody left once wed.
’Twas then I met thee too; each night would send
me to thy mother’s porch, where we would swear
our promises of love without an end;
but youthful oats aren’t often brought to bear.
Those summer days seem’d preternat’rally good
despite my digits’ pain, our later strife;
if I could live them evermore, I would—
for those, in truth, were th’ best days of my life.
—Yea time has marchèd on; now here I pluck
my instrument and rue my changèd luck.

Bryan Adams, “Summer of ’69”