Mistletoe

I stood under this mistletoe, waiting patiently. . .
Hoping that you'd join me there, and have a kiss for me.
I stood and waited, for quite some time,
Wishing that you'd come, but I'm
About to give up hope, and cry,
'Cuz you're not here under my mistletoe.

So I decided to write this letter,
Hoping it would make me feel better,
I'm still not quite sure whether or not
It helped fill up that empty spot
Inside, where I miss you a lot,
'Cuz we aren't both under my mistletoe.

So now you're standing all alone,
With our only link, the telephone,
So if you'd please do a favor for me,
And hold the mistletoe over your head, you see,
It would make me happier to know that we
Had both been beneath my mistletoe.

 

 

I wrote this for a dear friend of mine, Bobby Bates.

He lived in Ohio, and I sent him this poem and a sprig of fake mistletoe one year for Christmas.

Long story behind Bobby, but I won't go into it here.