I see the scraps of morning

    Gently amble over-head,

The farm-cat fiercely yawning

    Stretching, 

    Scratching on my bed.

All about, 

The air is thick with 

     Light anticipation

As i slip into my dress and hat

     And hurry to the station.

They poor from doors

     Like green-ish bugs, as the 

Platform fills with shouts.

     I go up on my tip toes

To search his movements out.

     He's there, 

        I know it, 

           I am sure -

I'd dreamt it up last night.

     He'd spill out with them 

From the train

Returning from the fight.

     But as the beetles drain away

He simply won't appear

     So i go on home, 

     'another day'

i think 

     'he will be here'.

The darkness follows, 

Folds the sky

     I slip into the house

And in my head, 

         That muffled truth

    Lies quiet 

             as 

               a mouse.