There was a man in Irish town Who wore a funny cap - A silver buttoned uniform And a bag hung by a strap Which swayed with a rocking motion Gently side to side With lots of various envelopes Tucked away inside. Our local friendly postman Would come around at times To bring us correspondence And mail of various kinds - Usually a voting form Or a letter from the Board Or a summons from the County Court For a debt we couldn`t afford. And he pushed it through the letter box - A hole in our front door Where once or twice a year would fall A letter to the floor But the postman was a passing sigh And a rare and fleeting glimpse On the old cracked flags and cobbles When I was young in Ince And but for red reminders And a free-milk coupons call We scarcely would have seen him At our house at all. But he didn`t bring us all this stuff That comes around today Like fearsome bills and junk mail And parcels from Ebay With offers and promotions Daily in a rash In glossy coloured brochures To part us from our cash The postman then had feelings And wouldn`t hurt us so By bringing postal menaces From folk we didn`t know. Our home address was all we had In Ince to call our home - Our proud and humble residence And a sanctuary call home And the postman had respect for it And treated it that way And not like some brick litter bin Like they do today
Posted on: Sun, 05 Oct 2014 18:57:18 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015