There is a little Post Office that lives down the lane
it's threatened with closure, as many are the same.
The rural post office a rare sight to be seen, that was
once the height of activity next to the village green.
The little bay windows and the sign above the door
where there was always a flag when we remembered
the war. A tiny little Post Office one for a friendly chat,
where there was always a busy body being nosy about
this and that; and children came to save a few coppers
and as a treat they were given sweets or Gob Stoppers.
The rural Post Office that was once a general store
but that's part of history and there is no more.
The tiny little Post Office that once opened to the heart
is slowly disapearing and us like fools, watch it depart.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem