I gave up writing letters when the frost set in
Having tied each bunch with coloured ribbon
So those clearing out could identify the writer
Before packing into bags for their final home.

Mother’s letters were always playful with a lot of
Funny drawings and a multitude of little sayings
There was often a five pound note for the children
And lots of kisses and hugs to each and everyone .

They came regular at holiday times when distant
Kept us apart and she and I felt unexpectedly sad
For we lived like each other, inside tins and things
Buttons and bows, flower pots, coffee-sponge cake.

I have her letters in drawers, inside books and cards
I have her glasses and blue case, last pair of shoes
A scarf where there remains the scents of The Island
The beach and sea, salty air and a jar of cold cream.

Love Mary to her mum xxxx