In twenty-seventeen, a swipe said, "Hello," A match found in the flicker of a screen's glow. Cork's Christmas lights, a tapestry so bright, We wandered the streets beneath December's night. I spoke with fervor, Chris was quiet, shy, Over McDonald's fries, as time slipped by. At the station's end, the train called its song, Chris reached for a hug, but I was withdrawn. Homebound, uncertain, his quiet still lingered, Yet Aoife and Mam, with their wisdom, whispered, "Give him a chance," they said with gentle grace, And love slowly grew in this winding chase. From Cork to Ballyhea, Youghal in stride, By train and by bus, through seasons we ride. Years turned like pages, closer we became, Abroad we ventured, this love’s tender flame. In Twenty-Two, we moved our lives along, Into a wagon, though small, felt so strong. A space on four wheels that we call our own, Crafted with love, like seeds we have sown. Chris, my best friend, in your quiet I found, A love so profound, our hearts tightly bound. More adventures await, near and afar, In and out of our wagon, beneath the stars.