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Poetry She wrote to him,
Her only one,
And spoke of perfect love,
Her words where clouds;
Her paper the sky,
Her letter as white as the wings of a dove.
The pages, they soared,
Beyond the horizon,
As she did from his view,
She signed the note,
Sealed with a kiss,
And three words: I love you.
He wrote to her,
His dearest friend,
Of his dreams, his hopes, his life,
He wrote to her,
With hidden intent,
That she would be his wife.
Oh, how she cried,
As he took her hands,
Both her's in his two,
And held them near,
With imminent care,
As he softly said: I do.
They wrote to her,
Their baby girl,
Before she was yet here,
And spoke of her time,
As yet to come,
They dreamed of holding her near.
Her birth day came,
They held her close,
And whispered in her ear,
Her mother and,
Her father both,
Had waited near a year.
She wrote to them,
From a college dorm,
Oh, how they wept with joy,
At the news they learned,
It was a miracle,
It would be a baby boy.
She married him,
And wrote of life,
Of how she was living her dream,
He was perfect,
And they were happy,
Life was all it could ever be.
They wrote their secrets,
They thought their thoughts,
And before it all was through,
They joined each other,
In respledent happiness,
Their dreams had all come true.
