With his binoculars, he saw them both;

They lay, side by side, in the grassy lands.

Dressed in their Sunday best;

Each grasping nervous hands.

 

As he watched from the tower, they made plans;

Unfolded picnic tables and then wept

At unexpected bliss

And secrets closely kept,

 

Or so they thought. They hugged, as if unseen,

Their aching bodies duly fused as one.

Sated, they rolled face down.

For him, this was not fun.

 

He felt no anger, no disappointment:

Just the last, final, fatal body blow.

Those pushed to near the edge,

Only they really know.