notably dressed in a blood-red polyester jacket, a golden-crown embroidered across his breast pocket marks his pride and duty. my heart never fails to skip a beat whenever i see one of them riding by smartly on their sturdy yellow bicycles.
when will it be my turn? i always ask. will he come up to me with a grin, asking me for my name and details? will he be my bearer of good things to come today?
oh when will mr postman bring me my parcel!?
when will it be my turn? i always ask. will he come up to me with a grin, asking me for my name and details? will he be my bearer of good things to come today?
oh when will mr postman bring me my parcel!?
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