She tiptoed in the cold
Across the swamp
Her bare skin thrilled at the delicious damp,
As she swept upon her caped escapade;
Save I, none spied her brazen, twilight tramp.
I wonder if she came with this in mind?
To sit, be looked at... (leave her clothes behind)
I sat by the fire, her nightslip in my hand,
And dimly breathed the lingering columbine...
"What is that girl thinking?"
Thoughts swam throuh my head--
"She must be chilly," "She likes it,"
"Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead."
My lady, set course for England,
Full speed ahead.
I stirred the fire musing
Hied she home all right?
Maybe I should call...
I sat, and smoked, reading Twelfth Night
Or staring at the wall--
Was she in love with me tonight?
Does she miss me at all?
The tree came clawing at my window,
No! It's fingernails, scratching at my door!
Up I lept, flung the portal wide,
And sure, there stood my Tom-clad Elanor.
She had returned! My nightengale, my muse!
She stepped into my hall and sweetly said,
"Dear, I forgot my shoes."