<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=528033" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Love Letter</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">She wonders how to begin her letter<br>She knows he will read each word <br>Greedily for any hint of love. She knows <br>He will sniff the paper for any scent of her</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She leans an elbow on her writing desk <br>And clutches her pen tight. She has got <br>As far as, Dear John, but then the words <br>Stopped coming. Before she had sat down <br>To write, the words flowed through her <br>Mind like a rushing stream, now nothing</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She sucks the end of the pen. Say what <br>You would if you were face to face, her <br>Mother always said. She tries to imagine <br>He is there before her and what she would <br>Say if he was, but still no words will come</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He writes to her so fluently when he writes<br>He always seems to know what to write <br>And how to put it into words. She tries again<br>Puts the pen nib onto the paper, gripping <br>The pen tighter. She reads what she’s written</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dear John. The pen moves, the words begin <br>To flow, her hand moves across the page<br>The images come into her mind as she writes<br>The things that they said last time they met<br>The things they did, she blushes slightly<br>That almost being caught out by the maid <br>In a state of undress. She pauses the pen <br>And sits gazing at the painting on the wall. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She looks back at the paper and starts again<br>The words tripping over themselves to be put <br>Down in ink upon a page; the images open up <br>In her mind, the colours, the smells, the events</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The pen now stops. The love letter is written<br>The writing done. She looks at the words <br>Then she seals it in an envelope and writes <br>His address. She pictures him reading it: in bed<br>In his room, sleepy, in a state of his usual undress</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Terry+Collett">Terry Collett</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=528033" data-title="The Love Letter de Terry Collett" data-description="She wonders how to begin her letter She knows he will read each word Greedily for any hint of love. She knows He will sniff the paper for any scent of her She leans an elbow on her writing desk And clutches her pen tight. She has got As far a..."></div> </div> </div>

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