The key was here and now it’s gone.
How on earth do we get in?
Someone else may spot the key,
think, what’s it got to do with me,
then pick it up and walk along
tossing the little scrap of tin.
If the same thing ever happened
to the love I have for you,
who’d be the poorer by this one love?
The whole world, not just we two.
Nothing but a simple form
picked up by another hand,
it won’t open any door,
so let the rust do what it can.
No cards or stars or peacock’s cries:
this horoscope can’t end otherwise.