When the evening finds me weeping
underneath the curled umbrella of a tree
and the Moon looks down on me as if malevolently
and the stars up there refuse to shine
when what was mine is no longer mine

and time fades into shades of grey,

I shall look forward onto a day
where all evenings fade
and I shall sit with a glass of tawny port
caught
between the joy of this and
the kiss that life had given me.