Love's a poor shelter, whatever you say,
The cover flaps in the wind,
rain gets in the ceiling,
Yet here we come to kindle
In a loving gesture or a glance
A little warmth beneath the hungry stars.
While overhead there stretches a vast sky,
stony, infinite,
And utterly indifferent to our brief ecstasy.
John Thorkild Ellison
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lovers-4/
