They say who play at blindman’s buff
And strive to fathom space
That a straight line drawn long enough
Regains its starting place
And that two lines laid parallel
Which neither stop nor swerve
At last will meet, for, strange to tell,
Space throws them both a curve.
Such guesswork lets my hopes abide,
For though today you spurn
My heart and cast me from your side
One day I shall return;
And though at present we may go
Our lonely ways, a tether
Shall bind our paths till time be through
And we two come together.
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