25 NOVEMBER 2000, Page 57

Games of Chance

Forever searching, you must find The piece to fit your jigsaw heart. I offered mine; you said its shape Was nothing like the missing part.

Though I would change to make you whole, And mould myself to fill the space, Yet you indulge a piecemeal soul That wears with pride its empty place.

Your puzzle never will be solved By perfect, made-to-measure love: You cheat us both; you would do best To know my best is good enough.

Hilary Lissenden