I've come
because of the light from your window.
You know, it's a terrible night.
The fog is so thick, before I knew it I'd lost the path
and floundered through ditches and bramble patches.
Then suddenly I saw your light penetrating the mist,
guiding me to your home.
And when I got near and was able
to look through the window,
I saw there, in your living room,
two chairs beside a bright fire
and a table laid with what seemed like an extra place.
And when you looked up from your comfortable chair
and saw my face at the window,
you didn't even wait for me to ring,
but I heard the urgency of your feet
running to open the door for me,
and the strong hands of your caring
drew me in and led me to that vacant place.
And then you served supper.
And somehow it seemed to me that you moved
with such thankfulness in your steps,
it almost made me wonder
if perhaps you'd been expecting me, all along.
