By Angus MacSpon

Someday I

Will feel the chill of approaching winter; and I
Will somehow find my way back to the place I loved best in all the world; and I
Will stand there beneath your window; and I
Will wait there patiently, for years and years, it seems;

And you

Will find me there at last. And perhaps you
Will take me in, and sit me beside your fire; and we
Will find together that even in winter, there may be warmth.

Sometimes I

© 2000 by Angus MacSpon • ContactWriting page