mince pies were all ready, as I was, and yet
something was wrong: something didn’t feel right
as I stood at the window and gazed at the night.
My stomach was twisted and knotted inside.
“Where is he? He’s late. Something’s happened!” I cried.
Outside, the wind roared and the branches they blew
as the rain lashed the windows and drove a chill through
all the house as it wept in the gales and the storm -
though inside all looked cosy, comforting, warm.
I ran to the phone: picked it up; useless, dead.
Thoughts and anxieties swirled through my head.
The lights flickered and dimmed; a candle blew out.
I started, jumped up, looked all about,
but all seemed so normal, the outside was fine:
the turmoil that battered could only be mine.
Unable to sit, I paced over the floor
from sofa to window, from table to door.
Nothing could calm me, my terror had swept
all reason and order right out of my head.
I flung the door open, ran out down the path
Above the wind was the sound of a laugh.
I found him out there, collapsed on his side.
I knew that something had happened. I cried.
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