And he made some joke about hearts being broken
And then he told me not to laugh,
And we'd been smoking, though we'd oughtn't to,
And the pub was empty, the skies were black at noon.

'It's hard to make peace,' she said, with a wry old grin,
'Difficult, sometimes, to extract our hearts, do the rational thing.'
She leaned across the table and comforted my chin.
And we've been in love, on and off, for forty years.

And he's still smiling like we were twenty-three again
And maybe someday we'll hold hands again
And trudge back home from school again.
And maybe sometime we'll set aside the decades and the days.

Perhaps it's best, that like this, we honour each other,
And leaving by some of the dirtier thoughts,
Setting aside our restlessness, take our leave
To similar cars, drive home to take our ease in separate beds.