The post box holds our dreams, <br />our hopes, our worries, <br />It take messages to far off places, <br />pays bills, consoles loved ones <br />in foreign parts. <br /> <br />Once inside, that little envelope <br />cannot be withdrawn or cancelled, <br />it will fly off in the arms of the <br />Royal Mail to its destination, <br />quickly, efficiently. <br /> <br />Thousands like it, <br />little white envelopes, <br />little brown envelopes, <br />small and large and buff <br />envelopes <br /> <br />and a few small boxes <br />squeezed into that red pillar box <br />where dreams slumber, <br />worries fester <br />and gifts glitter. <br /> <br />Dear George, <br />My most precious friend, I'm so sorry for your loss <br /> <br />Dear Sir, <br />I'm happy to accept the position <br /> <br />Dear Ann, <br />I'm so sorry I won't be able to come <br /> <br />Dear Mum, <br />I'll be home for Christmas <br /> <br />Dear Tom, <br />Please accept my condolences <br /> <br />Dear Jane, <br />I feel it's time for me to retire <br /> <br />Dear Santa, <br /> <br />So many messages, so many lives……<br /><br />Ruth Walters<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-post-box/
