Signed, Sealed and Delivered

Letter To Bunny - 16th March 1942

It comes from my great wishes, that I write this letter, to you, on this day of summer’s fallen tide,
Alas the misfortunes I’ve incurred are over, for now. I speak on the greatest symphony to hide.
None-the-less I, who write this letter, must write it in due course, on the winds broken side,
The first siren went off today, it rung out across the streets, the first of many, well I’d...

I’d imagine, my pen would not write such future liaisons for now I write this for you, to come,
The sun has woken, my little feet, will not, cannot and alas shall not care to carry me home,
Home! I call you to come home, from the warren plains of the sea, and return with some,
Some treasured stories of the Waverly places, the dastardly faces, and then none..

None-the-less this will go on, this the word I dare not speak, from here, it is but the latter,
The sounding sirens scream for the air to comber, sombre on, the waves of anti-matter,
Mail this letter will be the first, I hope you’ll receive, written so many it cannot flatter,
Flatter you that, there’d not be one word to say, not one word my perched lips would dare utter.

Utter, mutter on is what I am doing, I must be quick for the role calls are tedious, but care,
Oh bunny rabbit, you march on, the dance of the million man marching hare,
Solider on, and take from the lands, and take the greatest care,
For once life is cut short in is, but hardly, fare.

Fare-thee-well speak sombre to hope to hear from you soon, to hear your words once more, underlined,
And now I bid the later end Signed .

Aidan

Letter To Bunny- 19th June 1942

The cornels here told me to wait, three entire months for a reply, easier said,
But again we’re on it, moving from the west, it’s no longer safe to stay here they said,
It’s like we’re always on the run, like there is no time to think, of what I’ve done or said,
Though this letter I write, has been like the lost little bolt, shaking inside my head...

Ahead the last siren went, by now I’ve lost count of them, the first flare, sparked chaos, more than ever,
More men came; the hiding spot I had picked was not safe, not now, and never,
Still as we saunter on through the Texan Plain through the desert, it finally becomes now or never,
That I took a rest and wrote to you, while breathing and taking a pint of the lever.

Lever, is quite bitter, but with so many ranchers and fellow gunslingers, it is the best I have to drink,
And even though its stale leaves its trace upon my tongue, but it finally gives me time, to think,
I’ve thought, long enough, you need to come home, for this word I dare not speak,
Speaks much for its self I think, it ought to end soon, your platoon has not come to its brink.

Brink-ing, lights blinking, I stop... Just come, return home, I miss the cosy nights gnawing on your ear,
The times I miss the most, and the more I drink this lever the more, it became clear,
I’m quite small, meek, and some say weak, maybe physically, but mentally I have no fear,
Though the fear of you not to be right here...

Here by my side chills me to my very little tail, and worse of all the desert nights are freezing,
The rush sand storms have stop, although that’s just because the wind is not breezing,
Although, a little head cold that I’ve inquired has given me a fit of sneezing,
Thank god I don’t write every time I... sneeze, or else this letter would be far from reading...
Reading this last little bit, I thought I give you a little thing, to help keep your eyes peeled,
Just a little picture of your mousey is within sealed,

Signed Aidan.

Letter To My Mousey- 1st January 1943

Well. I am so sorry it’s taken me so long to reply, my fleet. The buffeting broad-headed fools,
Can’t tell their head from their tails, let alone handle such complex tools,
Our supply of food may have ran short, reduced to eating oranges and sleep in sheep’s wools,
None-the-less it sure doesn’t beat a night of gnashing from your little cheese stools.

Stools here are quite small in merry old England, the people, are jolly, like we’ve seen at home,
Oh how I miss it, the sweet western sun, the cool calm sweet ocean noise and
Brothing bubbling about on the sand, gentle caring whisper in my ear, this is home
Home, surely missing, surely thinking, that I will return as soon as we get this done

And your little picture got more than just my eyes peeled, my motors still running, without you,
Each cigarette seems to light the way to the smoke ridden cabins that smell like a dirty shoe,
Shoes that mislaid on the floor many times have I been mistaken, by the one I do,
Do nothing now, and it grows stronger, my missing of the one little thing, is all for you.

But now I’ve grown out the beard, so I thought someone would send this off for me,
So what happens now, where am I going to, it’s not clear or will it ever be,
I surely am not planning to see it get this signed, sealed and delivered before I go home

Signed Seán

Million man marching hare: A term from "The White Rabbit" of World War II. He was given responsibilities by the British government in Occupied and Vichy France because he had lived in France during the interwar years and was fluent in French.
Lever: Is an American larger served to the people who fled the west coast of America. It went out of wholesale in 1946 as it was known as the “World War Beer”

Buffeting broad-headed fools: The famous last words of Christopher Columbus to his crew before reaching the new world. In a journal documented from the founders of the remains of Columbus they said he was so angry because of how they thought by reaching land so soon that they had gone off course.

For and his matey