(So we did that random word thing again. This week it was mailbox.)

Bobbed hair
Fluffed by the wind
Brown eyes bright
With hope and fear-
Fear that there may not be
A letter, hope that one waits for her-
She runs once more to the mailbox.

In wartime, everyone dreads telegraphs
But the mailbox she feels is safe.
It contains sweet words from her fella
Not frightening ones about him.
She doesn't know where he is;
Navy secret, you know.

The black bars that are scattered
Through his letters
Seem to be growing more frequent.
But she doesn't mind.
She lives for
"Darling," at the beginning,
"Love," at the end, and in the middle;
"...dream..."
"...future..." and
"...when the war is over..."
But most of all,
"...safe..."

She goes about her
Daily business, but
Her heart is in the
Mailbox, waiting always
For him.