Let a big drift so softly sift
Its way between the streets.
Let rain come down, all over town,
In blowing, whited sheets.
Let sleet and hail not one time fail
To come when they desired.
Why so adjure the weather?
I’m a postman that’s retired. [1]
May Dobermans make lanes their runs
And jump on every man.
May German sheps plague the back steps
Of white and blue marked vans.
May Saint Bernards and Great Danes charge
The walker most admired,
Cause I’m no longer out there –
I’m a postman that’s retired.
“I didn’t get my first class yet.”
“But I don’t know their zip.”
“Of course, I’m mad, I know it had
A…a stamp.” Oh loud lip!
“You’re late again; it’s a big sin
This wage at which you’re hired!”
Their gripes I’ll no more endure –
Tell the next man. I’m retired.
Here comes the first, with its date cursed
By mailings once a month.
Here comes junk mail, the annual sale,
Bulk printings by the “tonth.”
And the season with the reason,
To dislike cards inspired.
Ah, it bothers me not;
Not this Christmas, I’ve just retired. -eab 11/24/85
Separate-Holy 