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Untitled
The echo
of an old, forgotten song,
Between the lines, a sudden, clear reflection
To fill the heart with pleasure, deep and strong
Bring back again a voice’s dear inflection.
Across the miles, the handclasp of a friend.
Reaches out within a letter’s lines,
And down a little lane, dream-footsteps wind
Where memory’s flowered tendril greenly twines.
From old friends come small messages we love;
Just little things that bring a bit of cheer,
And, like sun smiling through the clouds above,
Are cherished words of someone we hold dear.
Oh, letters are like angels without wings
That come to us as if on magic flight.
Can evoke tears or happiness that sings,
Bright little flames that light the darkest night.
-Ruth B. Field