20 AUGUST 1988, Page 27

A Place

When Mortal and Eternal mate, As in true love, there still must be A time, a place, something you see, A date, a prayer to listening Fate To sanctify some nondescript Tearoom, hotel, or bit of street, A passaging to stops and starts As secret as old graves in hearts That have what cannot be unkept; A new-born universe, no less. No-one can ask for more than this.

Patric Dickinson