Letters
They lay nestled together
In a blue Crane's box
Her notes, a bow.
Her script leaned forward, yearning,
As I'm sure she did, writing,
A thin reed bent
Toward the sun (or the wind?)
The past as the future
She was good at this, yes,
But a small seed of fear.
Men die in war,
Adventures, far off,
And that's what is left,
Such letters, a bow.
Lovely. I can see her waiting and know she is scared. Wanting him home.
ReplyDelete(just change Crain to Crane)