Today, I am a Postbox

The people never seem to see

That letters are no good to me

All they do is hault my diet

And make me sick when in a riot

Somedays when I can eat no  more

Along they come to my door

They stuff me full, to the brim

They just can't see I'm trying to slim

I like nightfall when there's no food

I persuade myself they've gone for good

But letters just keep pouring in

I eat more rubbish than my neighbour, Bin

But then a person by the name of Bill

Comes weekly to remove my fill

Now I can resume trying to slim

But trotting along is old man Jim

He feeds me letters to other old men

And the cycle begins all over again

The End

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