Martin Robertson

Now and Then

[Wind is chilly on shoulders]

Wind is chilly on shoulders.  Buses pass

but not my bus.

Comforting glow, warmth of drink, food

begin to fade.

Lovers close, held together, feud

against wind.

I stand alone, shiver.  But not alone

ever again.

Apart we are, but you are with me


Odd chills are chance.  Destined the steady glow

our loving knows.