Between nothing and their first meeting
Was the paraphernalia of greeting.
Hand touching on hand, the sudden
Look from which nothing is hidden.
Between their first and tenth meeting
Was a short time but much loving.
The days long and the nights longer,
Till death spoke with gun in his anger.
Between their tenth and last meeting
Was nothing: but at last the weeping
Face with which she regarded sadly
His face looking up at her coldly.
From: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?contentId=23175
Date: 1942
By: Julian Gustave Symons (1912-1994)
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