April 18, 1948
9:35 p.m.
Now in Philly
Dear B -
A long time since I wrote to you
In verses, with a rhyme or two,
But since the man said what he did
'bout talents which should not be hid,
I'd better write while time is ripe
So when I can't I will not gripe
And find my time for doing such
Is all but gone and lost its clutch.
A thank you note this one should be,
For being so doggoned nice to me -
A thank you for the walks and talks,
And coping with me and my balks.
I'll miss you, dear - that's what you said,
And talk like that goes to my head.
I'll miss you too, in many ways,
And for three weeks will count the days.
I'll do my work, and get my sleep,
And carefully avoid thoughts deep.
I'm sorry that you seem to think
My pep is gone - I'm on the brink
Of nervousness, complete collapse -
But you are wrong I think, perhaps,
I need a rest, a change of scene,
But with our goal I'll be serene,
All will be well, I have no doubt,
And all we hope for will turn out.
________
We're out of filthy Philly now,
and farther from the land of cow.
Do let me know how it goes with you
The many things you plan to do.
Huh?
Love,
Fretting Florence
