While they have been eating

The rain has started falling,

Gradually gathering in strength;

What began a drizzle

Has now become torrential,

And doesn't look like coming to an end.


The two bedraggled figures

That huddle in the doorway,

With nothing vaguely waterproof to wear,

Are now secretly wishing

They'd listened to their mothers

When being told to always be prepared.


Screaming

'Geronimo!',

They run for it down the road;

With an arm around her waist

He leads her to a place

He knows.


Soaked through, but happy,

They squelch up to the landing;

The room before them

Makes a welcome sight.

The coal fire is throwing

Strange shapes upon the hearthrug,

And crying out to be knelt down beside.


She pulls off her jumper

And flings it in the corner;

He picks it up and hangs it on a chair.

She puts on a record

And sings into her coffee;

He puts a blanket round her,

Sits her down

And dries her beautiful hair.