September rain lashes against the window
A cup of hot tea goes cold in the waiting
For you are caught in the storm outside
And I sit here, with my thoughts, contemplating.
I know not what resides in your heart
And you know not what rests in mine
Unlike the eye of the strom you are in
All my heart does is pine.
True, you may be hurt and lost
Wandering a lone street or glen
When shall you return, I ask
When shall I be whole again?