The Storm – a poem

There is comfort in the storm that hammers at your window.

As you lie in bed at night, embracing a warm pillow,

It begs to be let in… And you are almost tempted, peering

Around your curtain to see the bins overturned and emptied.

Orange street lights are glaring into deep puddles as

A caught-out-couple shelter, huddled, underneath a shop front.

The neighbour’s dog barks defensively while a girl on the bus

Watches him, face to the glass as her red carriage wades slowly past.

But you don’t let it in. You draw the curtains and you lie back down,

Listening and waiting and smiling with your eyes closed.

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