The Old Mailbox

The dusty road cuts through the rolling green plain No twist or bend or end in sight Only a small puddle from a recent rain And a mailbox standing upright. It used to bring letters, cards from one and all And on holidays a treasure A link to the outside world, refused to fall A beacon it would bring pleasure. Now it stands empty, and yearns for attention Its gaping yaw, now want for news It seems that its purpose in life is now done Now abandoned, it has paid its dues. And once in a while, down that long dusty road The search for a card continues But only catalogs, and trash by the load Disappointment always ensues. Seems the internet replaced the written word So easy to click a greeting You can even add sound for it to be heard As the mailbox takes its beating. The poor old mailbox is the bane of mankind But another use I can see Make a nest for the birds, the postman won’t mind And then put it up in a tree!