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 squelch up to the landing;   The room before them   Makes a welcome sight.   The coal fire is throwing   Strange shapes upon the hearthrug,   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.