Whenever I write a letter, to friends that are far away,

Or to the home folks I love best, I am careful what I say,

I write of the weather and the birds and the flowers, of sunshine and moonlit night,

But I never mention the worries, to the home folks I write.

 

I write some funny things between and smile myself and see,

Their loving faces as they read and know they think of me,

And they are happy, I am sure, because they see me, too,

And live the joys in fancy as they read the things I do.

 

I tell them we’re feeling fine out here, we’re happy the whole day thru,

I write of the pleasant trips we take, and the many things we do,

I write of the river, the ocean blue, the places I love to roam,

But, I never mention the worries to the folks when I write home.

 

Perhaps the day has weary been and tear drops dim my sight,

And things have bothered me a lot – of these I never write.

For I am sure if, then I’m sad, I sent a letter home,

And told them little troubles, made all my worries known,

That when my letter came to them and would break the seal,

And read of only worries, I know just how they’d fee.

 

So whether I am gay or sad, or days are dark or bright,

I never mention worries to the home folks when I write,

But, I ponder o’er the letters filled with joy or woe.

Journeying on to loved ones, ever they come and go,

And my eyes are dim with unshed tears, for perchance on a day less bright,

I, too, will send a tear dimed page to the loved ones when I write.

 

Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934

 

Copyright Roy Richard