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As I went
down the hill along the wall
There was a gate I had
leaned at for the view
And had just turned from when
I first saw you
As you came up the hill. We met. But
all
We did that day was mingle great and small
Footprints in summer dust as if we drew
The figure of
our being less than two
But more than one as yet.
Your parasol
Pointed the decimal off with one deep
thrust.
And all the time we talked you seemed to see
Something down there to smile at in the dust.
(Oh, it
was without prejudice to me!)
Afterward I went past
what you had passed
Before we met and you what I had
passed.
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