A Lack Of Ribbons (Poetry)

Where are they now? — those reams of ‘sweetheart’ letters
I wrote in oh-so-eager hotblood days
perhaps they still brood somewhere — boxed and hidden
forgotten since a male heart rarely strays

and rakes through crackling embers of old passions
those boys must all be wed — long past their prime
they surely won’t pour over purple pages
my ink subdued and faded over time

If I had been a Browning or a Bronté
my ‘darling’ notes would fetch a pretty price
and former beaus no doubt claim them as treasure
and put them up for auction in a trice

Alas, they have no value but nostalgia
few men I’ve known the type to take that trip
my letters never tied in scarlet ribbons
more likely buried on some rubbish tip