When shall we meet again —
In thunder, lightning or in rain?
Where shall we meet again —
In coffee shops, libraries, or
Little rooms under the moon?
Fair is foul and foul is fair.
By sinews and a misuse of muse
We become double, toil and trouble!
Gasping the air before it’s done,
Tinkering with words till there be none.
Before the appointed date and data,
Tell me, where shall we meet?
In your arms or mine. To meet our birth!
To meet our death. To meet Macbeth!
[Image: taken at London, UK]