She waits by the phone
Just for one call,
It's already eight.
She plays with a ball,
Entertains her child -
A toddler who doesn't know,
He's not old enough yet
To notice in her eyes, a low.
Eight thirty strikes,
Another anxious look;
The clock ticks on,
Another glance at the nook -
Where is he?
A rise of anxiety.
Such is her life,
And finally, the fateful ring.
She runs to answer -
Two words, 'My love';
A reply of soft reproach,
'I missed you'.
And it goes on.
Such is her life,
And such is his;
Torn apart yet woven strong,
Revolving around that one call.
Hope it's just for now.
