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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
Copyright ©
Gordon Mcconnell
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