Postman
Canada is too vast
Many times, larger than England.
And postmen are quite valuable.
Stories are told of the days when
Standards were a lot different,
Life poorer, hearts warmer.
"To household, our postman
Was member…"
Mainly in Christmas, December,
When, cards, notes, presents
Were in mass, expected.
"We sat him at table
And cracked the bottle
To drink together
Loving one another…"
Stories are many and lengthy
All of them soft, sweet.
"In times he drank much
And halfway got drunk…"
Hosts gave him a nice bed:
"He was our messenger,
Deserved bet reception
Since he worked for others…"
Even now, with COVID
They work hard, go daily
To the door after doors
And bring cards and notes
With smiles, causing joy.
Postmen are body parts,
As are our ears, eyes
And deserve: "Thanks a lot."
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem