Quayside Morn 

 Your limpid eyes, awash with sky
Behold me now as I pass by.
Fretful, lest you love me not;
Fretful lest I be forgot.

‘I cannot say if love be love’
You tell me at the quayside cold
‘I can only say you touched my soul
and turned my frozen heart to gold’.

It was not our fate to be as one
We shudder in the morning air;
It was not our fate to love for long;
I cannot say it was not fair.

For, when we are old and passions tire
And eyes have lost their youthful fire,
Our souls may meet, once more to know
And time will say

'I Told You So'.