He said he'd ring as soon as he returned.
At nine, indulgent of her eagerness,
She settled down with joy to wait and turned
Her chair to face the 'phone. At ten the stress
Of waiting prompted her to make some tea;
Eleven found her mind in disarray
Imagining some dire calamity
Or accident encountered on his way.
At half-past twelve... should she dial 999?
At one she went to bed. He rang next day:
'Darling, I'm sorry; everything is fine,
But Eric's wife was ill, I had to stay.':
Fondly he said, 'I knew you'd be all right.'
'Of course, ' she lied, 'I had an early night.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem