The Letter Scale

One of the objects I've treasured most in my life

Is this letter scale which, long ago, you gave me.

I was an active correspondent at the time,

Even sending lots of letters overseas.

While still enjoying the pleasure of going to the post,

I now had another: assessing exactly, in advance,

At my counter, the cost of packets and envelopes,

To which, price list in hand, I stuck my stamps.

I use it less these days, this quite simple device

Graded with little marks up to a whole pound,

For my mailings rarely still exceed the price

Of an ordinary stamp. The tray of polished metal's now

Covered with dust, without the slightest hint

That the red pointer marking the weight on the front

Has budged. But in the long run, one would, I think,

Discern a difference and see how much the months

Were worth in terms of dust, the seasons elapsed

Since the previous weighing. But having been seized,

Suddenly, just this morning, by a tremendous attack

(Annual) of cleaning, from which nothing is released,

I restored to the tray's slightly concave stainless steel,

That ever so slightly distorted mirror, its polished shine.

It reflected all of the sky, through which clouds reeled,

And I could confirm that space does not weigh more than time.