Old Man

No letter came for him today,
In the box on the avenue.
As fumbling...he lifted up the latch,
And disappointment grew.

His hair was almost silver,
And his step was very slow.
As he raised his wrinkled brow,
And marked the way to go.

He sought to control his feelings,
And tried with all his might.
To find a hoard of excuses,
As to why they did not write.

To the garden gate he tottered,
In shoes be-gone of style.
And paused...perhaps for a waving hand,
Or a face to give him a smile.

O...the world is full of old-people,
That are heavy-laiden with kin.
And blessed is the words of a letter,
So the Postman can let it drop in.


E.P. 1908 - 1989