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!
Copyright © Betty Janko | Year Posted 2017
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