Take a look and see,
What your letters,
Do to me.
Making me cry,
Weep, teary-eyed.
Handwritten,
In pigmented ink.
Forcing me to think,
Reading between
The lines, to find,
Clear meaning.
Dreaming,
Of writing back,
Though I lack,
The sense to send
Letters to end
The correspondence.
Something magic.
It’s awfully tragic.
That the letters
You mail,
Pass through
The veil.
Since death
Had taken you.