I pushed the beaded pin into my hair,
Looked at the mirror, at the empty street again,
Just a few more hours,
I muttered a prayer.
I’ve left the crossword unsolved in the morning newspaper,
Dusted the bookshelf,
I’ve cooked your favourite supper.
Bottles re-arranged in the cellarette,
Decanters and port wine,
The vases full of tulips fresh,
Knives and forks for together we’ll dine.
A dutiful wife, I’ve hidden them well,
Boudoir mails and scented letters,
For a husband away is a husband dead,
All wise men can tell.