Our Laughing Cavalier Poem by Matt Mooney

Johnny our postman flew off on his bike
Across the bridge on the river low down,
As live as a hare just sprung from his lair:
He was primed up for doing his rounds;

As merry a postman as ever I have seen
Who possessed the great gift of the gab,
Though we lived at the end of his daily run,
Yet he’d still be as fresh and as full of fun

As when he threw his bag up on his back
At the door of his little thatched cottage,
That was perched on the side of the street-
The main road that ran through the village.

He’d whistle and sing as if he were king
And his heart was so light on his bicycle;
He’d sit up like he owned half of Ireland.
At the time there were men in their fields

Who worked with ponies and horses:
They’d all say “The postman! ” then wave,
And exchange a few words on the weather;
If he had his way it wouldn’t rain ever;

And the news still unread in his satchel,
As he pedalled and freewheeled ahead,
Would not be as bad as anyone thought:
He hoped for them all ’t would be good.

Our laughing cavalier, down off his bike,
Would half dance in our path to the door,
Deliver the mail to my mother awaiting,
Then maybe he’d waltz ’round the floor.

As he talked he would look at you straight
And you saw that his eyes were so brown,
Filled with laughter and lovable roguery-
He helped you forget the day’s drudgery.