A long weary day is over at last.
I hurry home, driving too fast.
A disheartening thought, now I drive slow.
In such a hurry, but nowhere to go.
For when I arrive, no one is there
To ask about my day or show me they care.
He is gone away, this love of mine.
Not to return again for some time.
What use is there to rush on home
Only to find I’ll be there alone?
But at the door sits a card and a rose
And poem with words carefully chose.
The rooms don’t feel quite so bear
When someone far away shows they care.
How silly and foolish I must be.
He’ll always be there, waiting for me.