David Harris (18 June 1945 / Bradfield, England)
Faded Love Letters
An old shoe box under the bed,
filled with mementoes of years gone by.
Faded love letters stained with tears,
I used to cry.
They tell of the joy I knew one spring,
of laughter and fears.
And of the love we said would remain,
throughout our growing years.
The spring is gone and so are you;
the letters are all that remain,
of the love we once knew,
in that far off spring.
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