The Last Post
You used to be the kings of dawn,
Who brought us word from far beyond.
My friends, your greatest time is gone,
However much we’re fond.
You used to cause the heart to spring:
The letterbox’s breakfast clunk;
Alas, now most of what you bring
Is soul-destroying junk.
And all the parcels we still get ?
It’s never you nor Santa’s elves;
For all those gifts of internet
Will simply send themselves.
Alas, no more for Postmen Pat;
We must admit, you’re future’s frail.
Just keep you on through guilt ? Why, that’s
The blackest kind of mail.