This I have learned
And now know it for true;
All Gaul is in three parts,
Mankind but two.

Lovers or strangers. Two.
Never a third;
Which it will be, perchance,
Hangs on a word.

Two meet as strangers;
One speaks that word;
Maybe significant,
Maybe absurd.

Never as strangers
Will they meet again;
Only as lovers,
Wind, shine or rain.

We two are strangers;
Who knows, my sweet,
If we'll be lovers
When next we meet ?

RETURN TO LIST