'Spared' by Wendy Cope

What on earth to say about atrocity? It seems an affront to even try to use words but I think Wendy Cope gets something right in this poem. The entry in my commonplace book says I copied it out of the 'Observer' on 14th October, 2001



SPARED

'That love is all there is, Is all we need to know of Love' - Emily Dickinson

 It wasn't you, it wasn't me,
Up there, two thousand feet above
The New York street. We're safe, and free,
A little while, to live and love,

Imagining what might have been-
The phone call from the blazing tower,
A last farewell on the machine,
While someone sleeps another hour,

Or worse, perhaps, to say goodbye
And listen to each others pain,
Send helpless love across the sky
Knowing we'll never meet again,

Or jump together, hand in hand,
To certain death. Spared all of this
For now, how well I understand
That love is all, is all there is

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