All watched over by machines of less-than-loving grace
The day that love was banned I packed my things,
That debris of my life, into a case
And headed for the coast – some other place
To hide all hope and joy under the wings
Of hawks. Whilst handsaws sliced the souls of kings
In half, machines of less-than-loving grace
Disfigured poetry and brought the face
Of beauty deep beneath, where no bird sings.
But birdsong broke then far along the beach:
Her footsteps, muffled by the surf and sand,
Still boomed like drumbeats just within the reach
Of outstretched arms. She stopped, and took my hand,
Then climbed the cliffs and sat us down to teach
Our hearts to soar, the day that love was banned.