We made our way towards the Grand-Place.

Between us then, a tender trust began,
Your suitcase resting lightly in my hand.

A gasman in uniform happened to pass,
I smiled "No, my dear, no constable, alas."

Your adventure in Brussels came to an end.

At the police station, they gave you a helping hand
To reach the people you were meant to stay with.

Their address, I had committed it to memory.

I wrote to you, and you replied in kind,
The way back to each other, we were glad to find.

To see you again among your kin brought me new joys.

Playing swingball with you in the summer air
Stirred a fond delight I used to share,
Ball games with my first Swiss friend
Found a new beginning in your English blend.

I came to see with even greater clarity
Why the Force held such a special place in your life.

Your brother was a proper bobby
And, for a photograph, he let me don his tunic.

I was confined to the back garden
For had a passer-by sought directions
He would have heard eccentric instructions.

Your mum also introduced me
To a funny bit of British logic
That combines — and not just phonetically —
Friendship with… fish and chips.