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Another early Sunday evening has arrived.
You, you are gone, abroad;
I sit here by myself and drink coffee.
Tonight, instead of us sharing our dinner together,
I write verse about how much I miss you.
The notion, that adage about absence making
The heart grow fonder is nonsense,
To me, it amounts to no more than a hill of beans!*
I am no fonder, no fonder of you than I was
Ten minutes ago at the start of this poem.
Today I am no fonder of you than I was yesterday,
No fonder of you than I was last week,
Than I was seven weeks ago,
When you departed on business,
Left me in this big, old town, alone.
During that time, since then, my love,
My love for you has not grown even an iota.
Tonight I am simply sad.
I am lonely.
I feel terrible without you.
*A colloquial American expression as in “it ain’t worth a hill of beans,” Humphrey Bogart says it to Ingrid Bergman at the end of the film Casablanca. The phrase then gained world-wide notice. “Ilsa, I’m no good at being noble, but it doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world”.
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