The mailman in the city
Walks the streets with all his mail
And in each apartment lobby
He leaves letters, without fail.
When the buildings tower skyward,
He walks less to do his route,
For with endless boxes waiting
He needs hours to work it out.
In the suburbs or the country,
Mailmen drive from door to door,
Dropping bills and correspondence
And occasionally more.
But no matter their surroundings,
City streets or grassy grounds,
Neither rain nor sleet prevents them
From completing all their rounds.
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