The Postman

A postman brought the key that opened up the morn, Forty-eight hours after the new king was born. His queen was but a thought that would come years beyond, She would be much younger and a blue-eyed blonde. The old king would step down, that crown was for his son; He'll live for the grandkids 'till his days are done. There will be many heirs and each will stand in time, They'll be looking often at those close behind. The postman brings letters every now and then, Some will request payments, others will find the bin. Royalty no longer do make the front page news, To see them now the back pages you'll peruse. Their pictures been painted so many years ago, Where they're hanging now, nobody seems to know. This land's a republic, the monarchy's long gone; Heirs are now working normal jobs all day long. Those paintings were noted and worth a pretty price; Whoever had found them will be living nice. The postman retired long before the king's fall; Spend his days looking at paintings on his wall.