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.
All the tiny pieces of our rural lives, the post offices, the general stores, the ice man coming to bring ice, the watkins man bringing spices, and the gypsies repairing our pots and pans....going, going, and most of them gone. I am a country gal, and these things go almost daily from our lives, and it breaks my heart that I have to drive miles and miles to town to shop! Well written, my Sweet English Rose
When it's gone, it's gone, you are so right Sis, it's not just about convienence or money, It's about a lifestyle shared, something so precious in local communities So sad when this happens, so sad, Love duncan X
Perfectly penned, timely piece. If only those politicians would listen up. Grand, Sylvia. t x
You have a rare gift for keeping memories alive. Beautiful write, Sylvia. Love, Sandra
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Its the simplest things in life that matter the most, well done Sylvie! Miss ya! xxx