The road bends in a serpentine whim
It’s evening and I must scurry home,
Before the chill freezes my bone
And my last words echo in the trunk hollows.
She must be wrapping herself for warmth
She must be stoking the fire a little more
She must be closing the windows
But she mustn’t for god’s sake shut the door.
The road is throwing up endless bends
It’s night and I’m frozen to the bone
The trunk hollows are eager to be filled
No way now I can reach home.
She is now warm beneath her blanket
She now hears the fire’s crackling roar
She has closed the window
But she mustn’t for god’s sake shut the door.