By Parcels Post, A Domestic Idyll
By George Robert Sims
I sent my love a parcel
In the days when we were young,
Or e'er by care and trouble
Our heart-strings had been wrung.
By parcels post I sent it,
What 'twas I do not know,
In the days when we were courting,
A long time ago.
The spring-time waxed to summer,
Then autumn leaves grew red,
And in the sweet September
My love and I were wed.
But though the Church had blessed us,
My little wife looked glum;
I'd posted her a parcel,
And the parcel hadn't come.
Ah, many moons came after,
And then there was a voice,
A little voice whose music
Would make our hearts rejoice.
And, singing to her baby,
My dear one oft would say,
"I wonder, baby darling,
Will that parcel come to-day?"
The gold had changed to silver
Upon her matron brow;
The years were eight-and-twenty
Since we breathed our marriage vow,
And our grandchildren were playing
Hunt-the-slipper on the floor,
When they saw the postman standing
By our open cottage door.
Then they ran with joy to greet him,
For they knew he'd come at last;
They had heard me tell the story
Very often in the past.
He handed them a parcel,
And they brought it in to show,
'Twas the parcel I had posted
Eight-and-twenty years ago.