Letters Poem by Mira Midha

There lies a box of lacquered gold,
Carved with an ivory rose,
It rests upon a wooden shelf
Filled with words of those
Who came into a maiden's life
From youth to days of yore,
The words they talked of bygone musings
And wisdom steeped in lore.

Etched on perfumed parchments,
With a nib and feathered quill,
A trifle blot here and there,
When drops of tears did spill,
Though some lines danced with happiness
In tidings of unbound joy,
Then truant words they did speech
Of dark disturbing cloy.

Letters neatly folded,
A little brittle to a touch,
Spoke treasures of a mind and heart,
And more mundane and much.