We held ourselves together then,
As close as sea and shingle shore.
And all who saw the breaking waves
Would know the depths that friendship found.
The mystery was, it meant so much,
But drifted like the ocean spray,
Like flint embedded in the chalk:
We learnt, precarious and lost.
And time has shown the scheme of things,
The streets we took which had no plan:
Divergent lines on hazy maps,
And always there seemed no way back.
But now I see those lines were waves,
Which love and friendship held through time.
Brighton, where I listened to In My Life by The Beatles