Читать книгу It Started With A Note - Victoria Cooke - Страница 14

My dearest Rose,

I hope your mother is well. I miss you. I hear you’ve grown somewhat. You’ll be as tall as me when I come home. When I return, I’ll have many stories to share with you. As I write this, I’m on leave looking out on luscious green fields with red poppies and blue cornflowers growing. It’s quite the picture beneath the blue summer sky. You’ll have to see this one day. It’s ‘un lieu de beauté’ as the French say. I’ve picked up a bit of the language.

Some of my comrades have taken up poetry. It’s not something I’m good at, but I’ll send you a poem as soon as I get the chance.

Take care, my darling.

Yours,

Daddy