Long ago when people had time
They would sit down and compose a line
A pen in hand, nib dipped in ink
With friends far away they'd form a link
Some wrote letters of a superior kind
That stuck around and played on the mind
They type you kept hidden in a box
Away form prying eyes you'd keep them locked
They were not mere words, they were confessions of love
As if the angels themselves were speaking from above
A heart entirely poured into every phrase
About a moment, a touch, a feeling, a gaze
So this, for you, is my love letter
Let's hope the next is slightly better
Jul 22, 2016
Jul 22, 2016 at 6:37 PM UTC
Long ago when people had time
They would sit down and compose a line
A pen in hand, nib dipped in ink
With friends far away they'd form a link
Some wrote letters of a superior kind
That stuck around and played on the mind
They type you kept hidden in a box
Away form prying eyes you'd keep them locked
They were not mere words, they were confessions of love
As if the angels themselves were speaking from above
A heart entirely poured into every phrase
About a moment, a touch, a feeling, a gaze
So this, for you, is my love letter
Let's hope the next is slightly better
