My feet pounding the pavement to the beat
Of poetry that laid the cobbled street,
I feel a shaking sense of bittersweet
For a face I only once did meet
And wind that sings its fingers through my hair
Will not again its subtle secrets share,
Nor will the trees and flowers for me bear
The fruits I’ve come to love with reckless care.
The rhymes that seem to flow from displaced heart
I fear will be stopped-up when I depart.
-Cambridge, July 19, 2018