Kept always from the rampaging sunlight,
The colours never had a chance to fade.
Unlike so many of my words,
Where once black ink is now a muddy brown hue
And words I remember as fresh now seem old.

The colours have not aged at all,
Even though the verse is no longer appropriate.

Red as ever, the envelope is still
As mysterious as it was that Saturday morning,
And I never have found an answer for the question mark.

Even though I don’t know who you are,
You were a good friend to me, telling me
What I needed to hear all that time.
I just wish I could thank you
For how much better you made everything,
And how loved I felt.

Maybe I have done.

12/17/2001

Posted on 12/19/2001
Copyright © 2025 Richard Vince