The Doormat

There it is at the front door just lying there on its own but it could tell many a tale with its memories, it has grown The postman comes with the mail so many messages to forth tell whether it's wet, sunny, or bright his finger even rings the bell This mat picks up such dirt needs a good wash now and then it receives rain, snow, and sun knows it all, keeps a note with its pen There’s a friend at every door each doormat on every street what a picture they could paint but each one would love a seat