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THE POSTAGE STAMP
The postage stamp comes, into view,
When lovers have to part,
It takes posthaste the torrid script,
And tells the secret of their heart.
O'er mountain peak or rushing stream,
Caressed by winds, that gently blow;
Naught could block its destination,
No - - neither sleet, nor rain or snow.
The postage stamp is used again,
To bring a message filled with joy;
The stamp again had played its part,
To tell the world, - 'We have our Boy,'
The stork made visits, through the years,
Until our brood now numbered Seven;
Each time the stamp was used again,
And grateful there was not Eleven.
The postage stamp still serves our need,
We've reached our three score and ten,
With silver threads amongst the gold,
Tear-stained and yellowed, now with age,
That caused our eyes, with tears to flow;
Still grateful for the postage stamp,
And treasured letters, stacked in rows.
-Elizabeth Wallace Morehead-
Copyright owned by the
Wallace and Morehead
families.
Created with the CoffeeCup HTML Editor
~ ~April 16, 2003 ~ ~
