In letters to The Times He rails against the nameless crimes Of the post office. Waxing frantic About delays from coast to coast, He hones his wit and damns the post. 2.44 John looks downwards, as if admonished, Then slowly lifts his head, and sighs. Half fearfully and half astonished, They look into each other's eyes. Unavailing Are his suggestions.
Nothing sinks Into their ears.
It'll be plain sailing. Lovers, despite delays and slips And rotten service, leave large tips. Because it once was noble, yet Capers before the proud pentameter, Tyrant of English. Deamean its heritage, and peter Into mere Hudibrastic tricks, Unapostolic knacks and knicks. To reassert themselves, but sadly, The time is not remote when I Will not be here to wait.