Postman

 
The postman called  early  
the sun had hardly shone,  
precious thoughts to share,  
secrets,dare to tell,  
to be read more than once  
wisdom foolishness and truth,  
the jigsaw that is life.  
 
Look no further than the mirror  
its silver back, prevents the view  
look behind, is it you ?  
The  past  but  dream.  
Prick yourself did you feel the pain?  
The healing scar and crooked finger,  
the wrinkle on your brow, creased  
long ago by happy childish laughter  
sat on mothers knee, proof that memory  
is not illusion, things did happen  
as your mind remembers.  
 
Forget-me-nots in garden vases,  
do they remember, how did they come?  
On the feathers of a sparrow  
will memory help it return next year?  
A book in my lap, thoughts dispersed  
six thousand miles, wisdom to read  
enters the mind, sharing the joy  
that makes life's  bittersweet  
and ours to choose.