Woe is me, woe is us, my dearest:
we wanted only love, to love one another,
but among so many griefs it was fated
that only we two would be so hurt.
We wanted the you and the me for ourselves,
the you of a kiss, the me of a secret bread:
and that’s how it was, infinitely simple,
till hatred came in through the window.
They hate, those who did not love
our love, nor any other love: those people,
wretched as chairs in an empty room-
till they were tangled in ashes,
till their ominous faces
faded in the fading twilight.