I find a strange envelope in my mailbox.
When I looked in the mailbox I quick-shook my head;
’twas my name on an envelope printed in red.
Nary stamp nor a postmark on envelope too;
(to be truthful it was some mail out of the blue.)
So of course I was mail opener on the spot
being thoroughly throw by the mail that I got.
When I saw that a five-dollar bill was inside,
I who-hawed modestly and my eyes opened wide
because there on the bill in red ink in plain sight
appeared twelve, fourteen, thirty two…southwest, all right.
(It was really SW, to be exact,
so my train of assume may have been off the track.)
I will try to convey what a state I was in;
I could not think of someone who owed me a fin.
In frustration and gray matter reach overload,
I felt kinda depressed as I hunkered and lowed.
I was neighborhood thinking—this mail sans a stamp;
(this was basic deduction—my mind was a lamp
and to wit light abides where the mystery roams;
yet in truth a far cry was I from Sherlock Holmes.)
There was no one in neighborhood I could assign
for this mystery placement that boggled my mind.
Yet the hares in my noggin continued to hop;
I resolved that perhaps it was some drive by drop.
Yet whoever purveyed such mysterious leave
must have had as intent mystify up their sleeve.
“Cause the numbers and letters did not ring a bell;
I was head in the barn with my foot in the dell.
I at first thought the numbers alluded to date
but if so, the year, thirty two pestered my pate.
To be sure, southwest could have been totally wrong;
(oft we dance to the tune but are stumped by the song.)
For a time I did struggle what red printing meant,
and from whom just a strange postal present was,“sent.”
I resolved to not look a gift horse in the mouth,
and I understood many odd honkers fly south.
What enigmas await when one opens the box!
those responsible—perhaps they’re sly as a fox.
There was code on a five meant for little old me;
it was personal red letter mail mystery.