He wrote a letter in his mind
To answer a whisper a wind had sent;
He sought the fitting word to find,
As on by hill and rill he went.
The cadence sweet and silken phrase
He incubated in his brain
For days and days.
He wrote his letter on a page
It did not ring, so in a rage
He tore it up and tried again.
Time after time he drafted it;
He polished it all through the night;
He tuned and pruned till bit by bit
He got it right.
He took his letter to the post,
Yet long he held it in his hand.
Strangely his mood had veered, almost
Reversed,--he could not understand.
April romance had come to grief . . .
He tore his letter up again...
Bon Anniversaries mon ami...🍀🌷
13/11/1987
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