By Brent Johnson, Clam Gulch
If savvy wordsmiths
served postmaster shifts,
what marvels our mail might be!
They'd write anecdotes
on white envelopes
that opened kind thoughts like a key.
And the adages!
they'd pencil each parcel to speak.
Wit would unveil
when you got your mail
to brighten your day --for a week!
Their sleep would be slight
as they toiled all night
to join every couplet in rhyme.
But morning would burst!
with beautiful verse,
like bouquets, each showcased sublime.
We'd see junk-mail, displayed
with words on parade,
the pride of oak mantles and walls.
Children would then
dump Barbie and Ken,
to play with their postmaster dolls.
Our post would be banned
on the streets of Iran,
by tyrants afraid of free thought.
But graffitists would scribe
for all the deprived
who pray for a chance to be taught.
Such word masters, staunch
would certainly launch
the Post Office up like a jet.
And soaring on sales
these scriptified mails
would stamp out the national debt!
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