You sit by the window every noon,
Sipping tea, the same old tune.
Watching clouds drift slow and wide,
You smile as the world slides by.
I used to run across your floor,
Barefoot laughter, slamming doors.
Now I’m older, far from home,
But I still call when I feel alone.
There’s a chair by the window waiting there,
For the sound of love and a whispered prayer.
Even time can’t pull apart,
The thread you stitched into my heart.
Seasons changed, the garden grew,
I still see your hands in morning dew.
When sunlight hits the curtain lace,
I swear I see your gentle face.
If ever I lose my way again,
Your voice becomes my guiding wind.
And every road that I pursue,
Leads somehow back to you.
There’s a chair by the window waiting still,
For the boy who dreams and always will.
No matter how far I may roam,
That window light will call me home.
