A hammering smack the window glass,

The bitter, howling, grey morass,

Transparently the pounding rain–

Flailing madly in disdain.

The view from through the sealed gate,

A contrast by which to acclimate,

Ensnared in comfort’s clinging grip–

With a steaming cup of tea to sip.

Staring out at fury and storm,

Curiously watching while safe and warm,

The moment when I want her here,

A pathway forward not yet clear,

To hold in dreams until a promised time,

When her touch and grace will yet be mine.