The Steel Box

  

By SusanD Dimitrakopoulos

Well, the name’s worn off
and the steel box has turned rusty.
It sits on a post, on a road
no longer dusty ….

It was turned round and round for many years,
holding letters of joy, sadness and tears.
Standing proudly through rain, ice and snow,
a sign of letters to come and letters to go

. The milk stand served as a gossip bench,
while a lemonade, their thirst would quench.
The wind would play with the weather vane
and often bring echoes of a distant train.

You harvesters of the fields recall,
the white flag waving high on a pole.
Noon-day supper was hot on the table,
to all who were hungry, ready and able.

Well, the name’s worn off
and the steel box has turned rusty
. It sits on a post, on a road
no longer dusty ….

© 1978 Susan Dimitrakopoulos

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