Old Friends

When the nights have drawn in,

And the damp air returns,

I shall retreat to the opulence

of my own lamp lit room;

With its treasury of memories.

I will let the curtains shut out

The storms that gather outside.

It will be warm enough

by the fire, to thaw the day's clutter

And noise from my thoughts.

Latter the sleeping cat will wake;

Freeing up the old familiar chair,

So I can take up a book from the pile,

And curl up; in mismatched pyjamas;

To escape into other people's stories.

But the greatest comfort is to know,

That if I needed you, you would come,

And fill this quiet with your laughter,

Recalling adventures of our own;

And not need to ask, why I called.