Saturday night at Midnight,
That's when he wrote his letter,
The place was quiet then,
His concentration, better.
He held his pen and closed his eyes,
Sat still in reverie,
In his mind he traveled back,
Reliving memories.
Saturday nights were special,
He recalled those yesterdays,
He, in his tux with boutonniere,
She, in her gown of gold lame,'
She flowed like silk, upon his arm,
She moved and matched his stride,
People looked at them in awe,
His shoulders back with pride.
The paper smooth and white,
Was begging for his pen,
He picked it up.  "Darling," he wrote,
Then laid it down again.
His chin cradled in his hand,
His brow furrowed deep in thought,
He pictured her, as she was then,
In their days of Camelot.
His Queen of Beauty, Queen of Love,
His very Queen of Hearts,
The world was their oyster then,
Their choice - any part.
He, a successful bon vivant,
A presence, tall and trim,
A finger snap - a nod - a wink,
How they bowed and scraped to him.
"Darling," he wrote once more,
"It's been so long since I have heard,
I'm wondering if you are all right,
I so look forward to your word."
He twirled his pen between his fingers,
His thoughts flowed faster than his ink,
Suppose, he thought, she is not well.
Whatever should he think?
No ... she's fine ... she always was,
She always took good care,
Radiant, with sparkling eyes,
And shining, lustrous hair.
"I heard our song the other night,
I thought of you, my dear,
Remember how it used to go?
I almost shed a tear."
Erase that - he must not let her know,
That sometimes he feels sad,
"The music made me think, my dear,
Of the good times that we had."
"Our first anniversary,
Darling, do you recall?
Over and over, they played our song,
We danced.  We had a ball."
His body swayed in memory,
He closed his eyes again,
He hummed the old, familiar tune,
He saw the two of them.
"The weather's turning colder, dear,
They're predicting early snow,
Remember the winter we were trapped,
When it went to ten below?"
"They closed the roads; we were snowed in,
We kept piling logs upon the fire,
With each new spark, your beauty grew,
Just as the flames rose higher."
He tapped the paper with his pen,
Completely lost in thought,
He shut his eyes to better see,
Those things he thought about.
There came a slight rap at his door,
Which not at all disturbed him,
A woman clad in white came in,
Which, too, did not perturb him."
"My shift is through, I'm leaving now,
Sir, is your letter done?
Here, I'll drop it off for you,
I'm glad to help out some."
The page, he folded carefully,
Placed it in the envelope,
Then pressed it quickly to his lips,
And felt a surge of hope.
The nurse responded with a hug,
As she took his precious letter,
His white head nodded thoughtfully,
Somehow, he did feel better.
When Bess received this, she would write,
Soon - in all likelihood,
He smiled; he was satisfied,
He'd hear soon - he would.
The nurse stood in the corridor,
His letter in her hands,
She tore it in a thousand pieces,
He would not understand.
Bess had been gone for many years,
No way could he forget her,
Though old now, he was young again,
Because he wrote the letter.
Virginia (Ginny) Ellis

Index Page

Ginny’s Heart Index

The midi is performed by ©Yuko Ohigashi. To read about this interesting young composer just visit her site. Her midis may ONLY be used with permission from the composer. Visit her site by clicking on her banner displayed below. The midi is entitled Missing You. Yuko now has MP3s available and you may download them at her site, thus helping her college fund to grow! She has midis for sale now too!