Coming Home

A lady watches for her husband to arrive home. Fearful of his journey on a dreadful night.

Coming home.

She leant against the window, her fingers twisted through her hair,
Watching and waiting for the one she loved, no other could compare.
The rain lashed down on the window pane, so hard she thought that it would crack.
The lightening snapped through the clouds, the flash made her jump back.
The thunder roared and rumbled across the ever darkening sky.
And hope raised in her breast, at each car that passed on by.
Anxiously she gazed at the clock, on the sideboard to her right.
Time was ticking by, on this dark and dreary night.
Tears trickled down her face, as she realised with deepening gloom,
That the one she loved so dearly was tonight not coming home.
Then in the distance, far away, she heard a gentle ring.
Yet the impatience of it's sound, encouraged her heart to sing.
Swiftly, effortly, without a fuss, she raced into the hall,
Her arms were far outreaching as she tried to take the call.
At last she held it in her hands, and the voice that she longed to hear,
Was telling her he's closer now, and that he loved her very dear.
Glancing all about as she replaced the telephone.
She nodded with satisfaction, that there is love within their home.
How far they had come, since as a girl she had waited there.
When she first leant against the window, her fingers twisted through her hair.

 

The End

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