The Post

Some older people say the postman never brings them any mail,

So why is it that in the mornings, almost daily, without fail,

I receive a pile of letters, not just bills but other things

Of many varied shapes and sizes, which my friendly postman brings?

Letters from old friends and family, those to whom an email still

Remains a strange and modern mystery, and a quite un-needed skill.

Catalogues from shops I’ve bought from, often ages in the past,

Hoping that another order might be sent their way at last.

Charities I once supported, sending details of their work,

With requests for further monies, also in the pile might lurk.

Various types of information, that’s produced by local groups

Letting people know about things, also through my front-door troupes.

Missives from those institutions which I actively support,

Charities whose work may range from babies’ welfare through to sport.

There is rarely any morning when there’s nothing in the post,

And from what the postman’s carrying, I receive the same as most.