Every house
Down the street
Has a mailbox
Each so unique.
Mailman opens
Delivers mail
Receiver picks
At a later time.
In my daily walk
I seem to note
Every mailbox
Looking sad.
Letters no more
Are frequent
And delivery's
Now curtailed.
Electronic age
Has ushered in
Mail's email
In the desktop.
Writing letter
A forgotten art
Only used for
Business act.
Letters written
Recorded memories
Always remained
For generations.
Will those days
Ever come back?
Will the mailbox
Smile again?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem