times lost and flittered licking stamps
on envelopes of dreams and hopes and kisses
that hastened on the streets like drunken tramps
and almost make the best of wishes

to travel slowly in the bags on wheels
compacting folding tearing bent and splitting
to bring some lost forbearance heartbreak heals
to find its end in hands too old for knitting

was that the message that was lost and sent
upon the wind and wings of iron horse
where are those now who had such keen intent
so much that they abandoned trusty morse

so now we message in a fury haste
full of contrite and useless empty words
to all and sundry in the world wide waste
to add to what is already said unheard

 Perhaps those old wise heads had sense
that many verbose words are valueless
some understanding or intelligence
that means it worth the wait and hurry less

the final point to make is quite contrite
upon the formal and the legal weight
that most of what I write now it is shite
perhaps now  we should call it  snail-mail-gate

Oct 2015