I wrote those letters daily
To all the folks back home
But now it's just a box of paper
Where silverfish do roam.
I wrote those letters daily
In the heat and in the rain
And spoke about our unit
And of mates and joy and pain.
I wrote those letters daily
One always to you my dear
I spoke about the food and wet
Remembering what I fear.
I promised to be faithful
And be a proper man
To act a better soldier
To be the best I can.
Now twenty years have run away
Those letters are still bound
Thrown away like our lost love
Not wanting to be found.
MB 1990.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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