As a newbie at Thursday’s Poet’s Rally, please shout at me if I’ve put this in the wrong place!
I heard a footstep at my gate
and raised my eyes to see
the postman was, as usual, late.
My steps went to investigate
what news it brought to me,
that postman’s visit to my gate:
a symbol of the world so great,
words from across the sea.
The postman was, as usual, late.
Today a stranger at the gate
knocked and asked for me.
Bad news came through my gate:
so sad, you will appreciate,
he’s gone, too soon, you see.
I know now postman is ‘the late’.
I turn away, disconsolate
then back again to see,
as steps recede outside the gate,
the widow of the postman, late.