This is a deviation from the norm for me. This year, one of my resolutions was to attempt writing in different styles. This is an attempt at rhyme. Don't think it sticks very rigidly to the pattern, but it's an experiment. I think it's a little clumsy personally, hmmm....need practice! Any advice much welcomed.
The subject matter is real life, my late granddad sent home letters to my grandma whenever he could. Each one was addressed to My Darling Sweatheart. She is now 87 and really does still have every one of them in a silk bag she used to keep her hankies in!
To hold a Sunday candle to the sort
Of Lass that he'd held dear, when wrenched away
Memories of a sweetheart that he'd thought-
Of when away in frozen, turgid seas
With rum alone to chase away the grey
Bright sunlight spattered village cricket teas
Or rain streaked Sundays that they'd kissed away
Did he think she'd bundled them in silk?
Hid well away from dad in knicker drawers
The much kissed paper and the tear blurred ink
Of Darling Sweatheart, I am ever yours.
The SWALK, the ITALY the love
That stretched like silver wire around the world
She has them still. still keeps them in her drawer
A faded thin blue ribbon keeps them furled
Her skin resembles now the papered brown
He'd written on in childish rounded script
She doesn't even need to take them down
The words so often thought , so often lipped
That I could ever rank with sweethearts known
When all the world was crazy, boiling mad
Such peril brought forth love I'll never own
To rank with that of Grandma and Granddad.