It’s time to hang your hat, sir.
Your work has come to an end.
Harry S Alford My Grandfather the Postman
I’ll miss the hand waves and the bells
of a much beloved friend.
Seeing you early each morning
counting out the coloured cards
placing them through each letterbox
with a smile, wink and kind regards.
Rain or shine, you were always there
the glue that held the villages
together with paper and ink
and postcards of flowery bridges.
But, the wheels of time push progress
and you have been found wanting.
Time, she has made you redundant
and so Death has begun knocking.
It’s time to hang up your hat, sir.
Your work has come to an end.
We’ll remember you in our scrapbooks
and label you, a long lost friend.
Poem was inspired by an article in The Age:Are you ready to abandon snail mail?
I like to think I'm a story teller. I love stories. I believe the world is filled with stories just waiting to be told and learned. I enjoy travelling down the road less travelled, with my iPhone and journal in each hand. Here you'll find all my poetic musings... Enjoy!
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Charlie Ann Alford 