Time, in counting what my hours will be,
do not include the nights she was away
nor count the hours of every lonely day
as time allotted me.
Those were not mine. If it were I who chose
what hours to count and what to cast away,
I’d count the hours when in my arms she lay;
those were my living hours. Count those, I’d say.
Dear to our hearts our other loves,
Dear the memories.
Dear to us the things they touched.
Our hearts melt seeing these.
Dear are the years they shared with us.
Time will not sweep away
The memories of youth and love.
These things will stay.
But, love, we two are left alone
And there is love to give.
So put your tender hand in mine
And we will love, and live.
I remember the river,
The small boats, and the far shore
And, beyond, the broken wall,
The buildings, torn by war,
And fallen comrades.
I remember the catwalk and the factory,
The voices down below,
The grenade that fell among us, silent,
As if warning us to go.
I remember midnight,
And vivid in my mind,
Retreat, the burning catwalk, safety,
But a comrade left behind
Somewhere in the dark.
And I remember morning
And Roske coming back unharmed.