Rural Mail

I can see the postman comin’
as he rounded all the bends
to bring our letters pronto
from debtors, kith, an’ kin.

The dust would be a flyin’
as he sped down dusty roads
deliverin’ the mail each day—
unburdenin’ his load.

We kids would rush to be the first
to gather mail for Mom,
then hurry to the house
in case a letter came from Tom.

You see, he was away at war
tho’ he didn’t choose the fight,
but for his country he would go
so we all slept free at night.

The postman brought the catalogs—
Montgomery Wards an’ Sears,
so we could pick and choose those things
we longed for thru’ the years.

A letter from our granny
was always read out loud,
since she’d asked about each one of us,
of which she was so proud.

Sometimes a letter came to us
edged totally in black,
warnin’ us of someone’s death,
quite sad, an’ that’s a fact.

Yes, the postman was important
to we rural folks back then,
but with the P.O. now a changin’—
he may not be ‘round again.