Letterbox

There, a letterbox.
and it is red,
it shines at sun's greet.

a firing soldier on duty,
a proud carrier of hope,

once that is what it is
to me.

Then, the letterbox.
is pale red,
washed out betrayed by the sun.

an old one wheel bike,
a passe of modernity,

there goes what it is
to me.

How i long for 'the wait',
to see the postman's face smile,
delivering his soul to me,
thankful for the joy i bring today.

this normal communication,
warmth in the sun,
needing of each other,
even for the simple ones.

we ought to be a keeper.
the smile.
in the sun.
alive.