I went up to my attic
to put away your letters
In a grey metal box with two broken locks
Next to an old birdcage
When I went to put your letters inside
I found another packet,
covered with dust
and smelling of must
that came from another age.
My grandmother's love letters
held in her trembling hand
when she was seventeen.
They were a world to her,
they were her youth,
they made her whisper low,
seventy -seven years ago.
My grandmother's love letters,
so firmly in her grasp,
she'd read one line and gasp,
that means she breathed the
air of long ago.
I loved her so.
Some things you'll never know,
what makes the tide come in
and the little flower grow.
Oh, Father, time decides
when he'll come for one of us.
Some things you never know,
what makes the eagle fly
and the southern wind blow.
These things, they come, they go,
like portents, omens, dreams.
things you never know.
My grandmother's love letters
when she was seventeen
think what they had to mean.
They were a world tour.
They were youth.
She tied them with a bow.
My grandmother's love letters,
so firmly in her grasp,
she'd read each line and gasp.
And I'm the air she breathed
so long ago.
Some things you'll never know,
what makes the tide come in
and the little flower grow.
How far their time decides
when he'll come for one of us.
Some things you never know.
What makes the eagle fly
and the southern wind blow.
These things, they come, they go.
Like portents, omens, dream s,
you'll never know.
77 years ago. you