In her day there were no phones to speak across miles
No sending texts, even with bad spelling or grammar
No computers to lighten the load of communication
There were only words spoken, or words well written
They'd be sent across the miles carried by messenger
And now we see as she smiles, her lover responded
But it is left a mystery for those who might watch
As to whether her entreaties moved her secret love
But was he a cad or fool, or feigned an ignorance
What if his reply focused upon abject banality
What if he wrote back mentioning
How lovely was the current weather
Instead of something beautiful
Something filled with romance?
