Loudon Wainwright III Follow

"Is there any mail for me?" was the question that he asked
Of the postman at the closing of the day.
Then he turned away and sighed, while a tear stood in his eye,
As he bowed his head and slowly walked away.
Was it from a gray-haired mother? Or a sister or a brother?
Had he waited all those many years in vain?
From the early morning light, he would watch 'til dark of night
For the letter, but, at last, it never came.
So one day upon the shore, he was found, but life was o'er -
His poor soul, it must have gone out with the tide.
In his hand they found a note with the last words that he wrote:
"Should a letter come, please place it by my side!"
Was it from a gray-haired mother? Or a sister or a brother?
Had he waited all those many years in vain?
From the early morning light, he would watch 'til dark of night
For the letter, but, at last, it never came.
Sweet flowers twine around the tombstone o'er his mound,
Upon which was scrawled his age, also his name.
Many years have gone, they say, since his spirit passed away,
But the letter that he longed for never came.
Was it from a gray-haired mother? Or a sister or a brother?
Had he waited all those many years in vain?
From the early morning light, he would watch 'til dark of night
For the letter, but, at last, it never came.