I sat down at the computer this Friday night. We had an early dinner at Miller's Smorgasbord, and did a little shopping after that. Mary is watching TV and I wanted to write something new for my Thought for the Week. I decided on some poetry and after a few false starts, i came up with this love poem to my wife. The first 4 verses are essentially personal history. Of course, the last two are imaginary since I am sitting here typing. I apologize for getting a little mushy, but that's what love poems are supposed to be. - The Old Professor
It's Friday Night
It's Friday night, I gotta run;
The weekend lies ahead.
My buddies called; it should be fun,
"We'll look for girls," they said.
It's Friday night, "I'll see you, Mom,
I have a date with Mary."
I knew this time would one day come.
I'm asking her to marry.
It's Friday night, I head for home,
And I'll be grading papers.
By Sunday night, I should be done.
These weekends are not capers.
It's Friday night, and we eat out.
It's been a long tradition.
We've done it more than fifty years,
And fifty more, I'm wishin'.
It's Friday night and she's alone.
She doesn't touch her food.
They called and Mary dropped the phone,
"We did all that we could."
It's Friday night, I see her there
Waving her hand to me.
She's home at last; I touch her hair,
And now our love is free.
Copyright © Jay D Weaver - January 18, 2008
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