Postal Princess

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  • Childhood

    Postal Princess

    Lazy summer afternoons
    I would climb to my perch.

    Hot, sun-baked, metal
    seared my skin.

    I didn't mind
    I was queen of the block,
    for the moment.

    Sitting on my perch,
    I watched the world go by.

    Others tried to challenge my position,
    but I emerged victorious.

    I was the Mistress of the Mailbox,
    the Postal Princess
    I reigned supreme.

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    Poetry is what is lost in translation.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    lizziemarch’s Poems (7)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    A Dog's Life 0
    Cats and Tails 1
    A Dog's Life 0
    Postal Princess 0
    Erosion 0
    A Man and Two Cats 2
    Arabian Wind 0