Poštarica u penziji

Once I knew a postwomanfrom my town, and shegave the post her many years,young as young could be.

Years went by, as years will do,time goes by so fast.Was it sad or was it gladwhen her pension came at last?

She had dreamed that life would growlovelier by far;now at home, alone, her comfortis where the grandchildren are.

In her postal bank accountthere's a pension, small;to go back to her old jobshe would give her all.

But a younger woman nowfinds the work a treat;age has come, and aches are showing:she's glad to quit her beat.