The Letter

There’s a letter lying waiting

Through my letterbox front door

The post mark is too fine to see

So where it came from I’m not sure

I often play this guessing game

Though disappointed when I find

As once again a pointless circular

Sent to the rubbish bin declined

But now and then more then than now

A body writes with penmanship 

I read it twice then once again

Dwelling deeply on each snip

So if a letter lying waiting there

Has a chance of read review

I’ll place it high as most essential

Along with pressing matters true

Then carefully will lay it flat

With correspondence I will treasure

As part of special times gone by

My chronicles of studied pleasure