There are no postage stamps that send letters <br />back to England three centuries ago, <br />no postage stamps that make letters <br />travel back until the grave hasn't been dug yet, <br />and John Donne stands looking out the window, <br />it is just beginning to rain this April morning, <br />and the birds are falling into the trees <br />like chess pieces into an unplayed game, <br />and John Donne sees the postman coming up the street, <br />the postman walks very carefully because his cane <br />is made of glass.<br /><br />Richard Brautigan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-england/
