The Paper factory
I am amazed at the box out by the road,
it always seems to have paper to unfold.
It sits on a perch of a wooden post,
Its metal and hollow white as a ghost.
I empty its contents every day
but daily more paper seems to get made.
I never feed it for its not alive,
but it makes paper like bees in a hive.
I open some of the papers that it grew,
and darn that box knows when my bills are due.
It holds the envelopes together with glue,
and the different colors of white, red and blue.
I watch it with curious and intrigued eyes,
this box that produces paper inside.
I’ll raise the flag on its side,
then when its done, down the flag lies.
I am intrigued by this paper factory,
and how it produces letters is a mystery.
I’ve looked inside for a portal or clue,
to see how this box, do what it do.
I find it stranger that its not a female,
for on the side it plainly says, “MAIL!”