The Question

Sitting by the phone with the question on my mind

What will the thin stick say, what will my love find?

The minutes tick by slowly, like the passing of the seasons

And with every answerless second my anxiousness overtakes reason.

It's ringing now, what awaits me masked by my loves voice?

I hate this impersonal means, in person would have been my choice.

'What does it say babe?" faintly whispers out, "sorry my throat is dry"

And suddenly my heart sinks as I hear her begin to cry.

Are these tears of joy or sobs wrenched by sorrow,

I hate to beg her questions but my nerve wont last until tomorrow.

I wait , I listen, as my mind starts wandering,

Mixed feelings the subject of all my detached ponderings.

We're not ready, Unplanned as this all may be,

I can only think of this life my love might carry from me.

Still not knowing the answer held in her hand,

"Babe, yes or no we can do this, I know we can"

Her tears soften, "because you are my love, and I am your man"