Buried in a pile where they should not be,
Hidden from sight, in danger of destruction,
Seven letters written on near transparent blue,
Carefully betraying no hint for censors to redact.
Seven letters rescued from the brink
Of a lonely, careless oblivion.
I’ve rescued them for a brief time,
As brief as the technology remains to read them
And there are those eager to explore the past
With insatiable appetites for family lore.
They speak of great events before my time.
They speak of great events and private tears.
They speak of a world at war and a family with secret fears
For what the next telegram or letter might reveal.
Four from a single father to his son
Idle chatter about trivialities at home
To bring relief from what was to come.
Three from a frantic wife after wounds made known,
The last written on VE Day with indescribable relief