This is a deviation from the norm for me. This year, one of my resolutions was to attempt writing in different styles. This is an attempt at rhyme. Don't think it sticks very rigidly to the pattern, but it's an experiment. I think it's a little clumsy personally, hmmm....need practice! Any advice much welcomed.

The subject matter is real life, my late granddad sent home letters to my grandma whenever he could. Each one was addressed to My Darling Sweatheart. She is now 87 and really does still have every one of them in a silk bag she used to keep her hankies in!

 

 

 

To hold a Sunday candle to the sort

Of Lass that he'd held dear, when wrenched away

Memories of a sweetheart that he'd thought-

Of when away in frozen, turgid seas

With rum alone to chase away the grey

Bright sunlight spattered village cricket teas

Or rain streaked Sundays that they'd kissed away

Did he think she'd bundled them in silk?

Hid well away from dad in knicker drawers

The much kissed paper and the tear blurred ink

Of Darling Sweatheart, I am ever yours.

The SWALK, the ITALY the love

That stretched like silver wire around the world

She has them still. still keeps them in her drawer

A faded thin blue ribbon keeps them furled

Her skin resembles now the papered brown

He'd written on in childish rounded script

She doesn't even need to take them down

The words so often thought , so often lipped

That I could ever rank with sweethearts known

When all the world was crazy, boiling mad

Such peril brought forth love I'll never own

To rank with that of Grandma and Granddad.