Written on Sunday, posted on Monday,
Received in Wednesday's mail,
As sure as death and taxes,
Wednesday's letter never failed.
Every Sunday, since he left home ,
In pursuit of higher knowledge,
David wrote his mother,
Lovingly from college.
What devotion and concern,
"Such a good boy," Sadie said,
"His Father would be so proud of him,
But, God rest his soul, the man was dead."
How she adored her boy,
He did so well at school,
She proudly shared his letters,
With her neighbors, as a rule.
It got to be routine,
Every Wednesday morn at Ten,
Sadie read sweet David's letters,
To her neighbors and her friends.
"An honor student," so she read,
Not bragging ... just a fact,
"On the Dean's List every quarter,"
Of course, she was proud of that.
He played basketball and football,
And was on the varsity teams,
He always made the winning touchdowns,
And the winning baskets, too, it seems.
Because he held two part-time jobs,
He found it hard to get back home,
So vacation time and holidays,
Found Sadie all alone.
From time to time, she'd board a bus,
And go and see her Davey,
Then she'd come back with glowing tales,
Of the wonders of her baby.
He flew through his Freshman year,
And then his Sophomore, too,
Soon his Junior year was done,
And then his Senior year was through.
He graduated ... Phi Beta Kappa,
Top of his class, as well,
Sadie went to his Commencement,
Then came back home to show and tell.
Her friends and neighbors, all excited,
Anticipating his return,
But the next Wednesday came his letter,
Saying plans for home were over-turned.
He'd stay on and work that Summer,
And enter med school in the Fall,
So Sadie's friends and neighbors,
Would not see David after all.
But, Sadie, ever bright and cheerful,
Did not hesitate to boast,
"Just think ... one day, A DOCTOR"
Her dreams were grandiose.
He always wrote he missed his mother,
And he hoped that she was fine,
He wanted to come home, he wrote,
As soon as he got time,
Her friends actually then lost track,
Of how long David had been gone,
Yet every Wednesday came his letter,
Which helped his mother to hang on.
Eventually, he finished med school,
And then his internship was done,
Now, head surgeon at some hospital
Was what her David had become.
Of course, now he was far too busy
To consider coming home,
But his faithful weekly letters
Kept his mom from feeling so alone.
She still read them every Wednesday
To her neighbors, with great pride,
But then one Wednesday morning,
Poor, old Sadie sighed and died.
It was right she died on Wednesday,
Though her David's letter was not read,
But at least she had it in her hands,
When her neighbors found her dead.
The postmark on his letter
Was a local one ... in town,
And no return address was shown,
So how could David then be found?
Everyone was puzzled,
Just where did David dwell?
Then her friends went through her things,
And found David ... in a prison cell.
He had sent no letters home,
He was kept in isolation,
His crimes, too heinous to reveal,
And his mom, in utter desolation.
About those Wednesday morning letters?
His mom, of course, had feigned them,
A mother with a broken heart,
Whose fantasies ordained them.
Now, don't berate poor Sadie,
Nor condemn her for her dreams,
She had found a way to cope,
With a life too cruel, it seems.
Far more important than those letters,
Was the love from Sadie's friends,
Which she received each Wednesday morning,
When the mail arrived at Ten.
Virginia (Ginny) Ellis
Copyright January 2005