667 Maple Road

25th December, 20xx

Dear Dorothy,

I want to share my experience with you when I was in Scotland during the summer season. I had such a memorable experience that I could not restrain myself from writing to you.

I have had a wonderful time walking in the countryside and feel the need to share my feelings with you. While walking, my feet were arrested by a musical voice which was filling the valley. A highland girl was cutting the grain and singing on her own. She was oblivious of anyone. Her voice was certainly sweeter than that of the nightingale in the Arabian desert. There was a thrilling quality about her song. I was reminded of the Cuckoo bird’s song in the Hebrides island. I couldn’t understand the words as she was singing in a strange dialect, but the tone made me feel that it was a sad song. As I continued on my walk, her voice kept reverberating in my ears. I shall never forget it. I really missed you at that time, lake care of yourself.

Yours lovingly,

Wordsworth