The pages of your letters,
Coloured and scented,
Are the flowers of my day.
From my fingers they drop,
Like dry petals in the breeze,
When sleep drifts over me
And thoughts of you become my dreams.
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 4:41 PM UTC
The pages of your letters,
Coloured and scented,
Are the flowers of my day.
From my fingers they drop,
Like dry petals in the breeze,
When sleep drifts over me
And thoughts of you become my dreams.
What better way to fall asleep when you are parted than by holding your sweetheart's letter?
Request permission to use this poem