While they have been eating The rain has started falling, Gradually gathering in strength. What began a drizzle Has now become torrential, And doesn't look like coming to an end. The two bedraggled figures That huddle in the doorway With nothing vaguely waterproof to wear Are now secretly wishing They'd listened to their mothers When being told to always be prepared. Screaming 'Geronimo!', They run for it, down the road. With an arm around her waist, He leads her to a place He knows. Soaked through, but happy, They scratch up to the landing; The room before them Makes a welcome sight. The coal fire is throwing Strange shapes upon the hearth rug, And crying out to be knelt down beside. She pulls off her jumper And flings it in the corner; He picks it up and hangs it on a chair. She puts on a record And sings into her coffee. He puts a blanket round her, sits her down And dries her beautiful hair.