after a year - she returned
and the kettle sang
and the log fire burned,
and all was exactly the same.

at last, oh at last, she was back
and the crickets sang
and the dear old shack
glowed in the evening light.
she remembered the passionate night
when love was a wonderful game
and now it would all be the same.

after a year she was there
and her heart sang
to see the soft light in his hair
and the room with the crazy old chair
where they'd sat when he called her his dear
and at last, oh at last, he was near,
and he stood there exactly the same,
and he spoke - and his voice burned like flame:

"Have we met? Won't you tell me your name?"

© Ann Wooby 2018

Ann Wooby