I remember watching the lightning strike over the blocks
Of flats in Veszprém
While smoking my pipe standing in my shorts
On your balcony
I was happy then with you
Why does love never seem to work out
Always going in different directions
Like water streams
choosing their own courses
You can't ever predict what two people will do
And love strikes you
Like a bolt from the blue
When you are sitting in a Scottish lodge
reading your poetry to a group of strangers
And one person in the group
Is listening to you
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