Our sorrowful tale
November 14, 1525
My dearest bluebird,
It is with a grave heart and deep lament that I pen to thee this most urgent letter. With my trusty quill in hand, I sit beneath the mighty oak we once hath laid. And I know thou not careth about mine humble words, yet I have not another option. But perhaps, if thou can recall the way thou once felt lain in mine caring arms, thou canst open thy heart to me for but a moment. If thou couldst recall how time, though still, did slip away too swiftly when we were together—how the silence between us felt so comforting, how our laughter rang out with such merriment, and how sweet our love truly was. The tender bud we planted in the earth, which should hath bloomed into a field of flowers, remains a hope unfulfilled.
