Is this how this verse will end,
As a barely remembered line or two
And all the rest a blur of forty years ?
When memory is no friend,
And anyway, maybe you never knew
The rest of it, if it never reached your ears.
At least you can still pretend
If you pin up a card with a precious few
Of its words, to the scrutiny of peers,
Then one of them yet can mend
The missing heart, and give it its due –
And spare it from the fate each poet fears.