She sat in her yellow kitchen,
While a stew bubbled on the stove.
Outside the wind was racing.
She thought of her absent love.
The table was set for dinner.
To the clock her eyes did stray.
It seemed a long winter
Since her love had gone away.
The window pane was streaming.
There was silence except the sound
Of the venison stew cooking,
As the hands of the clock moved round.
She sat in her yellow kitchen
And murmured a fervent wish
That her love would come home that evening
And partake of her excellent dish.
She heard his returning footsteps.
Great joy arose in her breast.
She switched off the stew, pulled out his chair,
Then welcomed her much loved guest.