One, or Two?

Strange that this afternoon Mending the door I should see my lost Love Standing as before.

Smiling there upon me, From out the lessening light, Though never will she seek again Shelter from the night.

Stranger still that striving For her approving eyes, I should see my new Love, And without surprise

Know that I was mending The same door for her, Who'd soon fill the still house With a friendly stir.

My early Love, my new Love, Together at the door; One had returned, the other Was never there before.

But both of them were smiling, For both understood That love drove the hammer And love shaped the wood.