A Different Profession
No one yet knows my new calling
Now that my profile has changed,
I reside in a cemetery
A settlement prearranged.
Once upon a time long ago
People sent their post through me,
My job was that of a mailman
Carrying mails was sheer glee.
The times have changed so I believe
As machines now carry mail,
Besides, they do other things too
And am told they never fail.
Glad that I am dead and buried
Happily doing a task,
Which no machine can replicate
For it's quite beyond their ask.
Been assigned to push up daisies
And I push up roses too,
Am sure no machine can do that
Whatever else they may do.
Machines make not a warmer world
They have not the soul to care,
I yet endeavor to do that
Which no invention can dare.
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