Pens that dip into sapphire ink
And draw out lines so elegant,
Words that will not mean the same
In an email, or a text message
Or whatever app we’re using next.
Those crisp, cream envelopes
With paper folded perfectly,
Stamped with wax and finished with
A stamp and popped into a box,
Crimson red, a magic slot to other worlds
Where words are read and smiles are had
Or tears are spilled for broken love.
I always get so sad when I see or hear people not really knowing how to write a proper letter. I once had a younger friend who didn’t even seem to realise you could use the postal service for communication between friends; she seemed utterly shocked when I suggested we keep in touch by post.
I just think the art of letter writing is something that we need to hold onto. There is nothing more special than opening a card or letter with a real handwritten message inside. And this poem is my ode to the skill that is slowly dying out.