I see a long and straight lane
Covered with the shiny yellow leaves.
At the entrance to this lane
A large red mailbox stands.
I have a postcard with a poem.
It is important and properly stamped.
And then I turn white in shame
Because I remember a failure of the past.
One winter day like today
I forgot to stamp my fateful letter.
This fact reminds me of the different way
Which could be better.
A life is as firmly definite as a lane
In front of me, and beyond repair.
Have I ever been filled with shine?
I stand by the mailbox, viewing the lane from here.