The Envelope

Hardly does it say a thing,

But has every little thing

Scribed in it,

Words new

tried in it,

By the one who never wrote a

Thing most of the times,

But yet could talk of ‘Saving Earth’,

‘Fixtures, settings and wind-chimes.’

Do you anticipate a letter in an Envelope,

Coloured yellow, wanting your attention?

From a person, who seems to be your favourite;

The last what my mother could receive was,

A tape, some money and a flower,

Letter I didn’t trace,

But in-case,

If it’s yours,

Then I must,

Find its cause.