In rain or snow, or hail or wind,
Or thunder rumbles deep
The mail will make its steady rounds
In day and while you sleep
The stamped postcards will speed along
Through half-a-dozen states
To make it to their target spot
Where they will destinate
The envelopes will travel fast
To get to where they ought
And I have even heard replies
From some, but not a lot
And if you get some mail next week
The postage mark inspect
‘Cause I have mailed from stranger spots
Than I think you’d suspect