Letters wing their way to me,
caresses on paper, friends in words.
The warmth is there
even as the weeks and months roll by.
My mother, friend, lover,
is imperishably and gently expressed.
Like a hand that caresses
or a look that tells.
How good it is we remember…
and how good it is
that ‘we’ survive.
gallagher
12 feb 85
- upon receipt of Janice’s letter.
— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —
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