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Harold told no one about his evening plans.
His construction buddies already thought of him as odd.
Thirty eight, unmarried loner, 
They razzed him on being quite, his house, 
And how he needed to get laid.
But it was in fun, they respected Harold.
When it came to the job, they nick named him
"The Artist"

Harold looked at the clock on the stove,
And went up stairs to get dressed for dinner.
The vintage suit lay, newly pressed, on his single bed.
The tag "Carol's Costums" attached to the hanger.
Harold decided not to wear the Top hat.
Feeling it was over the top.
and as he struggled with the bow tie,
He was trying to remember the name of his prom date.

Dressed, he walked down the long creaky stairs.
His wrist watch telling him "two minutes"
The nervous anticipation quickened his movement,
As he brought out the feast.
The large Grandfather clock began to chime in the living room,
Harold surveyed the dinning room, 
As he would do after a construction job.
He smiled proudly to himself, "The Artist" he playfully said aloud.
Knowing Alice would like the room as it was intended.

As the chime hit its last twelve, 
Harold herd the fimilar sound,
Of Alice's feet stepping on the creaky stairs,
And when she martialized in the dinning room,
Alice looked around at what Harold had done for her,
Harold new the night was what he had planed to build,
As Alice's  ghostly eyes, looked at him lovingly.

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