Nothing Gained

No songs for us, my churlish love,

No beating drum, no bells,

No nightingales in dreaming parks

No bright-lit carousels;

No eyes that chance a glance and meet

No tears, no tears for crying,

No lips that touch and brush, my sweet,

No sighs, no sighs for sighing;

No tributes read, no plaudits said

No sonnets penned for losing,

No you and I in some dark bed,

No choice, no time for choosing;

No sleep, no peace, no rest for us

No counsel for defence,

No court of high appeal for us,

No help, no recompense;

No hope, no future, nothing gained…

I hit Balranald then;

You’d phoned ahead one hundred miles

To light our love again!

 

David Lewis Paget