The Parcel’s Lament
A box of cardboard and tape,
A simple vessel, given form and shape.
The journey began with a clear label,
Addressed to ‘Hopeful’, dwelling somewhere near.
The van holding it was a hurried beast,
That rumbled westward when the path was east.
The Driver, ‘Mindless’, at the wheel did sit,
His thoughts adrift, where moonbeams softly flit.
He mused on stars, on clouds, on endless blue,
Forgetting tasks assigned.
He saw the streets, but as a painted scene,
Not lines of duty, where he should have been.
The error was felt as the lane passed,
Where ‘Hopeful’ waited, through the gentle rain.
A call was attempted, with rustle, bump, and shift,
“Turn back, turn back! I am a needed gift!”
But Mindless hummed a tune, a carefree air,
And left the destination hanging there.
The box bounced along, past parks and silent homes,
A wandering box, where lost intention roams.
It should be opened, with a tear and a smile,
Instead, it lingers for another mile.
O, ‘Mindless’ Driver, with your head in space,
A simple gift denied its proper place!
Now the box is stranded on a stranger’s porch,
Beneath the glimmer of a lonely porch-light torch.
‘Twas an absent mind that brought it to this door,
A tale of errands, and of something more:
Of how a moment’s lapse, a fleeting dream,
Can send a package floating, like a stream,
To where it ought not be, a silent plea,
A delivery, lost for eternity.
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