I may have met you when we were young
in another roll of the dice, a chance
in a playground, say, two swings that were swung
by parents eying each other askance
as we screamed and shouted in a sky-dance.
I may have met you at college, a desk
in a library, and two piles of books
between which, shyly, one or two looks
may have put all the world at risk –
with a tricky shuffle of the card-deck.
I may have met you, given a twist
of fortune’s thread, outside two doors
along a street. Neighbourly chores,
school runs, an all-too-common cause . . .
with something closer somehow missed.
So much for all the may-have-beens.
But I am glad we met in age,
two children still. Behind the scenes
fate lets rip on a random stage . . .
and still we two will write our page.