They sound like boasts
When I hear them now
The words of when we were
Who we were
In a time of wonder
In a garish flat in the Alps of the city
With pillow giggles
And a table made of boxes
But a single telephone call
One voice, the magic word “Yes”
And I was off on promotion tours
And you were looking for lots
Where our home of dreams
Would be constructed of wood and luck
And I was commissioned
For another book
Invitations came . . . . with my name only
And agents and editors
Wanted to meet . . . . in private
MGM and NBC wanted to talk
Behind closed doors
And you smiled and straightened my tie
A kiss on the cheek and a whispered “good luck”
And coming home to you asleep on the sofa
Now you are gone and so is the folly
God decided you needed better company
And I moved to a small Mexican village
Because without you there was no meaning
Praise and prizes were echoes and rust
And I long for the flat and the cardboard table
And the sight of you laughing . . . . and loving
In the days before we had everything we never needed