Mailbox

there is a letter in the mailbox
you know the one
down at the end of the road
there is grass growing in the drive
and the black eyed susan's
are in bloom

the mailbox door is open
i can see the letter
that's inside
across the road a myrtle
whispers in the wind
and a blackbird
searches for a meal

the trees are green
but soon will turn

butterflies dart from stem to stem
the dogs are barking
off in the distance
and the deer
stand silently grazing

the mailbox is white
with a big red flag
the door is open to see inside
a letter the postman has left leaning
sits there waiting



today is clear
i can see to the end of the road
as it turns into the distance
against the hedgerows
that block my view
of the clouds rolling gently above

i have not been to the box
for quite some time
for rarely does it have an occupant
but this day for some strange reason
i felt an urge to walk
down the lane

there are no houses
on this road
and here the lone mailbox sits
like a beacon
to let one know
that someone in these woods
does exist

robert
2011