Dear friends,

I must beg your indulgence yet another time – in this instance for troubling you so soon after my last message rather than for too long a span between these missives.

I informed Mr Oldman that his latest effort had been published, as per his request, but was dismayed to learn that he sent several more poems along which were unaccountably mislaid in transit. So, as you might imagine, several exchanges transpired by phone and via the internets, and the situation was soon remedied. Better late, as I always say, than never. So without further ado, an errant work from D.T. along with an explanatory note from Leo. Of this latter young man -- I strongly encourage his literary endeavors, as the apple clearly has not fallen far from the tree insofar as his interest and native ability so clearly parallels that of his beloved Uncle Tybalt.

Forthwith, then. First a note, and then a poem:

**

Hay albert

here is the poems that went mssing sorry they must have fell out in the truck and anyway Ty didn’t seem none too sure about this Fairweather person whether he knew her or not, and I couldn’t dislodge from his head that her first name weren’t heather. As a consequence he apparently worked quite a bit to strike a cordial tone without suggesting too much familiarity with the mention of leather xsetera. b ut there is only so many words that rime with weather. Though as we know he can be quite a imaginative fellow as with them ones he wrote about that cougar lady a wile back. But as you said it may be best to spare them poems of that nature for a second volume markeded for adults only.

This here poem is for Miss Heather,
Who some folks refer to as Fairweather.
And she’s wonderful whether
She’s wearing some sneakers or shoes of leather.
And in her hat she might wear a feather.

And I hear tell her last name is Lewis,
Of an old family who used to knew us,
And they always would how-do-you-do us
When ever they chanced for to … {I can’t read this]
Some say they was from St. Loius.

Ty also says to say hello to Sadie if she stops through again and to Roscoe if he is the one who we think he is but he would have to look over them tatoos probably to be certain as it has been quite a number of years and folks change so.

Yours truly,
Leopold.

**

If you would indulge me but a little longer – Here Mr Oldman seems to have regained for a moment some of his finely-wrought powers of description that so earned him such accolades over the years. The very tentativeness of this endeavor is so very touching yet at once earnest; he starts, as ever, with his invocation, calling up the spirit, as it were, of this person he but scarcely knows yet wishes to know better…He is curious; he must fall back on reputation, as in “Some folks say…”; then on to a head-to-toe description of this new idol. And then, the mystery continues and the intrigue grows! A last name, a possible family connection and the suggestion of an old cordial relationship so much beloved in Southern culture; “almost family” as they say. And he ends in a final note of mystery; he must resort again to hear-say in that final cadence – “from St. Loius” [sic]. How the mis-spelling of that city of mystery reflects his inner turmoil, the longing of the "I" to be “us”! Was ever the genius of Durwood Tybalt Oldman so casually, yet so eloquently, on display?

Though several other poems were included, I think it best to hold those in reserve for another time. Such delicacies can not, should not! be scattered as pebbles on the beach.

I cannot overstate the value of these late literary endeavors by Mr Oldman, whose delicate health, though on the mend for the moment, may yet fall into a sharp decline as a consequence of his long and difficult life. Some talk is underway, as I believe I mentioned in my last accounting, of assembling of some bound volume of his finest works in a limited edition. Please, please! Do not hesitate in ordering your own personal copy, with a personal inscription by Mr Oldman himself for those who place their orders before this work goes to press. Do not delay!

And on that note I bid you adieu, or, to borrow a phrase from the delightful Miss Fairweather, “Fare thee Well!!”

I remain,
Your humble servant,

Albert Banfill