The single drawer in the night table
Holds things that I hold dear
But none so dear as the missives
From my sister through the years.
She was a happy and generous person
Loved by all she knew
She enjoyed parties and plays and then some
We danced until the curfew blew.
She suffered a loss that changed her
Though she tried to carry on
It became too much for her to bear
And now I have the letters in the drawer.