A Facebook friend posted this poem by William Butler Yeats:
“Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That’s all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you and I sigh.”
Prompting my reply:
But Yeats, entranced by words and such
Forgot to mention holy touch
And wrapped up in what he can do
Forgot your reach belongs to you