At the corner
of the street, amidst the daffodil,
under the lamp post,
it stood still.
The autumn leaves
brushed against it's head.
Tickled by the touch
it blushed into red.
Voices echoed out
from its cavernous belly.
Few fragrant verses,
others being scary and smelly.
Messenger for the folks
in the town,
without a message for itself
turned dull and brown.
As I stopped by
to feed my letter,
it engulfed my fingers,
as if something tasted better.
Whispering into it's ears
all the beautiful talks,
I posted a letter addressed to
'The Letterbox'.
-