Carol Ann Duffy
I watched love leave, turn, wave, want not to go,
late spring, a warm slow blue of air, old-new.
Love was here; not; missing, love was there;
each look, first, last.
Down the quiet road, away, away, towards
the dying tine,
love went, brave soldier, the song dwindling;
walked to the edge of absence; all moments going,
gone; bells through rain
to fall on the carved names of the lost.
I saw love’s child uttered,
unborn, only by rain, then and now, all future
past, an unseen. Has forever been then? Yes,
forever has been.