Of course we dithered at the kiosk
With affordable umbrellas,
Slowly arm in arm we wandered
To the gardens on the map.
As the clouds spit and spattered –
Was it sycamore or linden? –
Well, whatever science calls you,
Thanks for throwing out your arms,
So generous and easy,
Oblique and stooping like a mother
With a warm, protective skirt.
So in your folds we huddled;
Not thinking you had chosen
Just that spot to grow your fringe,
So that one day, a couple, tired,
Could take refuge in your limbs,
And through your foresight, inch together
To a perfect sense of calm
In one another.