times lost and flittered licking stamps on envelopes of dreams and hopes and kisses that hastened on the streets like drunken tramps and almost make the best of wishes

to travel slowly in the bags on wheels compacting folding tearing bent and splitting to bring some lost forbearance heartbreak heals to find its end in hands too old for knitting

was that the message that was lost and sent upon the wind and wings of iron horse where are those now who had such keen intent so much that they abandoned trusty morse

so now we message in a fury haste full of contrite and useless empty words to all and sundry in the world wide waste to add to what is already said unheard

 Perhaps those old wise heads had sense that many verbose words are valueless some understanding or intelligence that means it worth the wait and hurry less

the final point to make is quite contrite upon the formal and the legal weight that most of what I write now it is shite perhaps now  we should call it  snail-mail-gate

Oct 2015