Mr Postman, Mr Postman

The postman was working today, sending out letters to the mailboxes all over town. That was his job, and he was good at it. I know, because he delivers the letters on time, most of the time, of course he is due some manner of respite and runs late some times. Everyone loves him.

The time comes when you have to ask him a question. I asked “Mr. Postman, is there any letters for me?”

He said no. Along with him, the hopes fade away, on his scooter, Mr Postman resumed his duty.

I shrug my shoulders, I walk back in, expecting a mail, but it never came. It has been some time, this wait, hey wait, no reply.

4 winters gone by, four springs of wait. Patience, patience, what’s a coupled more falls?

Otherwise, no reply is a reply.