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.