I found this eve a letter writ
That never had I sent,
I wondered ‘fore I opened it
The avenue it went.
The envelope was dark and spent
(as now I'm aged and bent)
I opened it and read its page
All wired with suspense.
Not much it was, just butcher's bill inquiry
That I'd forgot to mail,
A page now blurred, forgotten, erred
On a smudged and musty trail.
But memories were provoked by it
Of times that I remember well-
I mused and smiled, as they romped and flew,
Like echoes from a bell.
I put it down
(the letter I mean)
Back into the drawer it had reposed,
Perhaps, someday, we'll meet again.
In this life…. One never knows.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem