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C/0 st. ignatus house, willoughby drive, parrametta, |
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New south wales |
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This fifth day of july, in the year of our lord nineteen |
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Hundred and thirty five |
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Why must i apologize every time that i sit down to write |
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Through my own fault i may find |
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You're no longer living at this address |
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Please excuse the lack of news |
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The feeling of strange privilege |
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For the hour of trial, in these times of distress |
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Mean more than years imprisoned by etiquette. |
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I can remember when we were children |
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Though i could never imagine this day |
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Your brother told me we'd live forever |
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'i'll go one better,' i heard myself say |
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And it seems so strange, now that he's gone to recall all these |
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Games |
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While the years have divided us |
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Friendships have strained and broken |
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Oh, by the way, how's that girl that you wed |
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I hated you then, but i'm over the worst of it |
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I can't come home, i might as well say, life is short |
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I shall not write again |
