My love will come <br />will fling open her arms and fold me in them, <br />will understand my fears, observe my changes. <br />In from the pouring dark, from the pitch night <br />without stopping to bang the taxi door <br />she’ll run upstairs through the decaying porch <br />burning with love and love’s happiness, <br />she’ll run dripping upstairs, she won’t knock, <br />will take my head in her hands, <br />and when she drops her overcoat on a chair, <br />it will slide to the floor in a blue heap.<br /><br />Yevgeny Yevtushenko<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/waiting-141/
