Waiting By The Window

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.