SPARED
By Wendy Cope
That Love is all there is,
Is all we know of
Love.. Emily Dickinson
It wasnt you, it wasnt me,
Up there, two thousand feet
above
The New York street. Were safe and free,
A little while, to live
and love,
Imagining what might have
been-
The phone call from the
blazing tower,
A last farewell on the machine,
While someone sleeps another
hour,
Or worse, perhaps, to say
goodbye
And listen to each others
pain,
Send helpless love across
the sky,
Knowing we'll never meet
again,
Or jump together, hand in
hand,
To certain death. Spared
all of this
For now, how well I understand
That love is all, is all
there is.
