A 'C' like my grandmother
used to make.
Elegant, old fashioned, refined.
In spidery script all her letters were writ,
Pages and pages of everyday news
of a land far away,
Yet somehow I loved
Even before making a memory of it.
Always signed 'Papa', though written by her,
Suddenly changing the voice in my head
To a jolly and round one,
Instead of her spritely, mischevious tone.
And now sorrow
because they're gone.
No more letters in spidery script
Full of everyday news of a land far away
Yet somehow I love...