Dear Mrs.
Though we have never met
I know very much about you
I know that you've got hair
That shines like the morning sun
You've got eyes
That hold the blueness of the sky
And of the deepest sea on a clear day
And a smile that has a sparkle of a diamond
I know that because
I've heard him say those things about you
These are the thoughts
And the words of a man
Who spent many heart breaking years
Behind prison walls
The father of your children
The man who worshipped
The very ground that you walk on
He had a picture of you, Mrs.
It was old and faded and torn
But you could tell at a glance
That he never exaggerated
In his thoughts and visions
He never left his cell
Without first checking to see
If he had your picture with him
He was a young man
When he first came to prison
And he talked a great deal about you
But as the years passed
He talked less and less
And during his last year here
I don't believe
He ever said a word to anybody
He had the appearance of a man
Much older than he really was
He walked with his head down
And his shoulders sagging
And the walk itself
Seemed to take a great deal of effort
He never received a letter
Or had a visitor
While he was here in prison
But never did he stop looking and waiting
Every day at mail call
You could see him standing close to his bars
With the look of a child awaiting a reward
Even after the mailman had passed his cell
His pleading eyes would follow begging
As always he'd feel of his shirt pocket
And then just stand there
Staring at the emptiness
And as always
I could somehow feel
The lump in his throat
And the burning in his eyes
You know, Mrs.
Like just before you start to cry
Well, I thought you might like to know
That they buried his body today
Just outside the prison walls
They buried him there
Because nobody cared enough
To claim his body
You know there was even
A couple of old convicts there
That actually cried
No, not because they cared for him
But for what he died from they cared for
Loneliness
Every prisoner knows loneliness
But some know it more than others
The man that they buried today
Had died many times
Every day he waited
Hoping and praying
For a letter or a card
Or just a note or anything
To let him know
That somewhere out there
Somebody cared for him
That assurance never came
And today he died, Mrs.
He died from loneliness
Starved for love
A love that nobody ever wanted
You see no man, woman or child is immune
To the need of love
Or to be loved
No matter how terrible
His crime might have been
The death he died from today
Was more inhuman
But his suffering is over now
And he's resting in a pauper's grave
In a prison suit
And in his pocket
Is an old torn and faded picture of
Yes, of you, Mrs.