What The Postman Brings
by Isadore Baker
by Isadore Baker
Of all life's minor blessings
Fate or providence may send,
There is nothing e'er so welcome
As a letter from a friend,-
For the spirit of the writer
Lurks within the glowing lines
And e'en how much a "-" may mean
The reader quick defines.
But for commas and the colons
We have little use, to-day,
They are frowned upon by fashion
And have no excuse to stay,
For modern "love of letters"
Will tolerate now less
Than briefest art and formula
Ideas can express.
And the old-time books on Letters
(If we'd follow their advice)
Would send the correspondence
To limbo in a trice.
'Tis known without the telling
That you take your pen in hand,
For otherwise is nothing writ
Throughout this goodly land.
And 'tis an item understood
That you, in best of health,
Should wish your friend this blessing,
Of nature's truest wealth.
Oh, kind, polite and friendly
Must the model letter be,
And never dull or prosy,
If you would write to me.
