We stood on a Swiss mountainside,
Necks craned, eyes wide,
And stared up at the deep night sky,
To see the shooting stars speed by.
Then nineteen summers down the line,
We sat upon a steep hillside,
And gazed at the Ligurian sky,
To watch more time-pressed stars whizz by.
Almost a score of years, a gulf,
Between those two Saint Lawrence Nights.
They passed quick as a crossbow bolt,
As fast as those unfailing stars,
That shot across the vault.
17/8/12
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