I held your hand. The ancient bone
beneath the flesh had been there since
the dawn of time:
you were an immemorial fact
which none could cancel. Our staunch pact
could not be broken. None could rinse
away the rhyme
and reason of that Elie beach
with everything within our reach:
the home, the kids, the rich years spent,
our maiden kiss,
and a blown hat I deftly caught.
Those numbers don’t add up to naught.
And yet I sense it wasn’t meant
to end like this.
Paul Groves, ‘The Mauve Tam-O’Shanter’, Times Literary Supplement, 13 July 2007.