Print

I wrote you a letter filled with feathers and rainReturned to sender by way of aeroplaneIt arrived on my doorstep, a fallen bird from the skyLost in the snowstorm, returning home to dieI wrote in cursive to youThe ink was made from a winter's afternoonAnd I wrote with the pen you gave to meOn paper made from the leaves of our favorite treeI held it in my hands, heavier than beforeLight when I sent it, now the weight of a closed doorAll the time I had to say the things I meantPages are the writing path, the letter's unsentI wrote in cursive to youThe ink was made from a winter's afternoonAnd I wrote with the pen you gave to meOn paper made from the leaves of our favorite tree From Letras Mania