A day spent with a letter, unread
Afraid to open it for fear of what you said
Will you be coming back? or, maybe not
The letter is here, my emotions cold, then hot
It stays on the table in the hall
I pass by and wonder, "will this be all?"
"are you going to tell me that love is gone?"
I'd rather not hear, so I leave it alone
But it draws me back to touch, to feel
To run my fingers over the seal
Then, tentatively, I begin to open
You'll be coming back, at least I'm hoping
My fingers stop, the letter unread
Is put back on the table and I go to bed
I'll deal with it tomorrow, tonight I'll sleep
The bad news can wait, the letter will keep.
susi taylor (Texaswishr@aol.com)
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