Post-box Paddy

When walking down the street one day,
A post-box passed me by,
It cast a sideways glance at me,
And then said with a sigh,
“I’m sick to death of Christmas tide,
It gives me little joy,
I’m stuffed with letters and cards all day,
And many a kind of toy”.

“They fill me up with paper and string,
Inside I’m in a state,
What I need is something nice
Like cheesecake on a plate;
I cannot stand it any more,
I‘m going on the run,
Awaiting me is a brand new life,
Where I’ll have lots of fun”.

This wistful tale he told to me,
Though sad and full of woe,
Was no excuse for him to flee,
For cards still have to go.
So I said to him, “Come back with me,
Return to work right now,
Then I will give you quite a treat
That’ll soothe your troubled brow.”

So late that day when work was done,
A treat he had for sure,
When wicked children filled him up
With sweets and toys,
And buckets of horse manure.