He looked at me-
It was half past two in the morning.
She was waiting for her daughter to come home from a study group at her friend’s house.
She said she would be home by ten.
Four and a half hours later her mother came to the conclusion that there was no studying going on anywhere.
She was at a party.
She had been waiting in the living room on the sofa studying the clock each minute, clenching her teeth, and boiling her own blood.
Feelings of nervousness and anger went through her head the whole time as she sat there.
The newspaper was scattered in pieces on the carpet at her feet.
poetry doesn't have to rhyme, but that's the way i like it
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