She lives in the crisp square envelope.
The one with the cute cartoon stamp in its corner,
Sealed carefully and full of feeling.
This morning, she patiently guided the hand,
The one that shook with nervous trepidation,

The one that keeps pausing and letting fear walk across the page.
She quietly pushed fear aside and watched the pencil
The one that wrote out three short words,
Saying more than a three-volume novel.
Then with the words, she was taken to the purple mailbox,
The one at the end of the driveway,
With its flag up, now containing a million hopes and wishes.
Her name is courage,
And she lives in the crisp square envelope,
The one that now will never be opened,
As it floats,
From the mailman's hand
Into the gutter.

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