sometimes your mail thrills
other times you bring us bills
through rain, sleet, and snow
you always to our house go
now, I must protest
our mail is messed
our mail is not for youplease we ask of you
our magazines and books
are not for your looks
so in honor of your service, I utter my appreciation
in observance of your lack of privacy, my dissatisfaction.
Notice: Poetry is not for me. Now you know. . . and knowing is half the battle.
Kyler is at my dad's house today after leaving school with a headache and low-grade fever. He still has a bad headache. Thank goodness for grandparents.