Waiting by the window
listening to the wind blow
when are you coming home?
You know the hour is growing late
and though I tire, I will wait
until I know for certain we’re alone.
At the mirror, you’ll comb your hair
make your bed and say your prayer
turn the bedroom light down soft and low.
And I will stand here in the dark
(swallowed by the teeming dark)
laughing at my little lark
And wait and breathe and watch you through the window.