I found them tucked away
behind the bureau in the den.
I knew what they would say.
They spoke the words of way back when.

Letters, yellowed with age
Each enclosed in faded cover,
with love on every page,
from my father to my mother.

He told her of his life,
of serving on a distant shore,
of a world filled with strife
and of a land ravaged by war.

He told her of his need
for her. He told her that he cared
and from the lines I read
between? His soul, I know he bared.

So much was left unsaid
in all the letters he wrote home.
The countless left for dead,
and the terror of the unknown.

And now his body lies
in a grave, across the water.
No more to set his eyes
on his darling wife and daughter

I know that they loved true
and that they shared each others pain
I read each one anew
before I tied them up again.