Letters

The net is quite impersonal it gives None of the lasting touch, as with a letter. While words come fast and we may receive Candid feelings, all these never last forever. I have a box of my father's last letters, Ten of them tied with a golden ribbon. Written just a year before he died of cancer Sometimes I read them and his words live on. Old letters written by the hand of those we love, Crossed the miles in planes, our little treasures. And the hand that wrote in ink reminds to prove Their connection lasts through time, it endures.