Dear Rose

I bought an old desk.
It was antique.
Inside, a letter,
yellowed and dry,
perhaps left 
for me to justify?

It said, 

“Dear Rose,
I love you so.
It broke my heart
to see you go.”

That's all there was –
not one word more.
I put it back
and closed the drawer.

Copyright 2012 Robert D. McKinley
All rights reserved