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Christmas is coming,
my post-bag's getting fat
it's also getting heavy,
my shoulder can vouch for that!
My poor feet are killing me
each mile I have to trudge!
I always dread cold, wet weather
and underlying muddy sludge!
The dogs fancy my ankles
for their Christmas bone,
I just kick out to startle them
so they'll leave me alone.
The Postmistress has an eye for me
as she crams letters in my bag
then she hands me many, heavy parcels
to make my poor legs sag!
The busy traffic swishes past,
spraying me with mud and rain
some drivers are my customers
so I shove their letters down the drain!
Large Christmas stamps some people use,
hide a badly written address,
so if I pass a red post box,
well, I can let you guess!
When taking letters to our local farm,
down the muddy track,
the bull appears and I surprise myself
how fast I can run back!
The garage man has greasy hands
to receive my fresh clean mail,
and if my bag touches his acetylene torch
I must dunk it in a pail!
Some letter boxes are far too small
or badly placed form me,
so I stick them in the next door house
for their delivery!
Some envelopes state quite clearly,
they're not sure where the recipient dwells,
and my language, when I see these,
would ring quite a few Christmas Bells.
© Copyright F H Bond
2003
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