Ye Old Mailbox

It stood like a beacon light, set on a hill,

Awaiting the mailman, its vacancy to fill.

It stood alone on the Montana prairie

And beckoned the mailman not to tarry.

A large box for packages and the letter box below.

Mail came three times a week, through storms and snow.

Sometimes Dad was called upon to come with the team.

Winter snowbanks or muddy roads could be really mean.

Dedicated carriers were Bill, Alvin and Adolph, as I recall.

No package too big, no letter too small, they carried it all.

Grandma’s packages from Minnesota, I’ll always remember.

Shelled black walnuts and dried apples she sent in December.

Sears and Montgomery catalogs came spring, summer, winter and fall.

Shopping was sure easier than going to a mall.

One hot day while waiting for mail, I wasn’t alone.

A rattlesnake laid beside me, it looked like a stone.

It, too, had sought ye’ old mailbox’s shade.

I think Dad put him away with the end of a spade.

Many’s the time that half mile I walked

And there is in the quiet with God I talked.

Well Mom changed her address to heaven above.

She’s there in care of God’s gracious love.

My sister and Dad moved on into town,

But still ye’ old mailbox, it didn’t come down.

It stood there for years and looked rather lonely.

But when I visited, it always seemed homey.

Now I hear that the road grader has knocked it over.

So it’s grave is the ditch among the rocks and clover.

If ever again I’m granted to pass that spot in the road,

My memory will linger, and I’ll say,

“Thanks ye’ old mailbox for the love bestowed.”

This poem is dated 1996. It was submitted by Helen DePuydt.