The Letter Home

Care of St. Ignatius House, Willoughby Drive Parramatta, New South Wales This fifth day of July In the year of our Lord, nineteen hundred and thirty five Why must I always apologize Every time that I sit down to write? Through my own fault I may find You're no longer living at this address Please excuse the lack of news The feeling of strange privilege For the hour of trial, in these times of distress Mean more than years imprisoned by etiquette I can remember when we were children Though I could never imagine this day Your brother told me we'd live forever "I'll go one better," I heard myself say And it seems so strange, now that he's gone To recall all these games Though the years have divided us Friendships have strained and broken Oh, by the way, how's that girl that you wed? I hated you then, but I'm over the worst of it I can't come home, I might as well say, life is short I shall not write again