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.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem