Each letter I receive highlights my fear,
Post-boxes send cold shivers down my spine.
Is news awaiting of events so drear,
Such sadness might destroy this heart of mine?
To contact me it's best to make a call,
Or even drop by for a spot of tea;
Let's sit out on the porch and talk football,
Our verbal contact is what interests me.
Perhaps I should return to long ago,
However ancient seems the written word;
One's cellphone is not all there is, I know,
By trashing mail, my actions are absurd.
I'd better dip my quill into some ink
And get that letter written, don't you think?
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Author Notes
Today's word:
epistolophobia (n.) the fear of receiving correspondence.
My much-treasured Christmas present for 2017 is a book by Paul Anthony Jones: "The cabinet of linguistic curiosities". Each page contains a descriptive story about some obscure or archaic word. It occurred to me it would be a fun exercise to try and write, each day, a poem featuring the "word of the day" from the book.
Thanks for reading.
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