Tucked in a drawer among the loose change and string

Tucked in a drawer, among the loose change and string,

a postcard of a harbor, grey and bright.

I bought it then, for you, a silly thing,

to send across the miles, into the light.

But words refused the paper, flat and thin,

the postage stamp, a faded blue design,

just sat there, waiting for a tide to begin,

a silent message that would not be mine.

The painted boats are moored, forever still,

a promise gathering dust, I can't fulfill.