Featuring the works of Barbara Suzanne Carter
by Barbara Suzanne Carter
So tenderly you wrote to me
as lovers in the past
I gave them each a number
from the first one to the last
They’re letters in a shoebox
old memories tucked away
Just little notes of happiness
from a brighter yesterday.
I’ve opened them so many times
the envelopes are worn
The glue has dried so brittle
that half the stamps are gone
The pages are so wrinkled
where I’ve held them to my breast
And tears have stained the words and lines
that I have loved the best
So many times I’ve tried
to stop myself from reading on
I guess somehow they make me feel
like you’re still coming home
If I could let your memory go
and put this hurting to an end,
I’d put these letters in this shoebox
and never open it again.
Copyright ©
June 17, 1987
Barbara Suzanne Carter
All Rights Reserved
by Barbara Suzanne Carter
The sun is out and reaching down
To brush the frost from the ground
The trees are clothed in crystal garb
Silver white in every yard
Puddles are covered with winter's glass
A temptation that a child can't pass
Fingers cupped around noses cold
Coveting the warmth of their breath as gold
Knitted caps upon their heads
Little cheeks turning rosy red
Please hurry bus - don't be late
It's much too cold to have to wait!
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