The Mailman

He comes driving by our place
Most every single day
And yet we often fail to thank
The guy who makes it gay…

For many country bumpkins
Such as us who school at home
The time he drives past with the mail
Means entertainment’s come.

We wait, we sigh, we check again
For contact with the world
And when his car has finally come
Our excitement comes unfurled.

So now I write this poem for him
Who works to bring us this;
The highlight of our every day-
The mail we meet with bliss.

Jennifer