You

Our friends' wedding:
I'd lied, called it a funeral
to get army leave
so I could be with you.

It was a surprise, a present
and your blush of pleasure
cheered me like a crowd.

So here we are on the step
above 'the happy couple'
who will one day divorce—
looking into the future
which is now.

Ten friends together
in that photograph.
Fifty years on
and four are dead.

Who will be next?
Who will be last
and put out the light?

It's time to tell you again
how much I loved the girl
who blushed her welcome.
Forgive my trespasses.
Stay close. Hold my hand.

— "You," by C. K. Stead