When?

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?