Their life began in simple steps,
As all the greatest stories do.
A train, a bridge, a longing glance,
And talking hours in Waterloo.
The huddled, shuffling city streams
Rolled by with hushed transparent forms,
Their fingers touched and time stood still.
The river passed beneath and through.
And off into the night and lights,
From which a million lovers fled.
They found a café – dragged it out –
She missed her train and then again.
Each parting brought them closer to,
The start of life at Waterloo.
Waterloo Station, London, where I heard Waterloo Sunset by The Kinks.