A Timeless Love Story in Verse: George Robert Sims’ Poem

I found this poem on the Public Domain Poetry website. The poet’s name is George Robert Sims. This is the only poem listed for him. If you would like to read more about him, here is his info on Wikipedia.

I really love this poem. It tells a story. A love story. From courting to marriage to having a baby and finally to sitting on the front porch watching your grandchildren. The parcel has a mystery to it. Who knows what could have been in the parcel? Even the author admits in the poem that he didn’t know what was in the package. I think that the parcel represents their love through the years and they pass on that love for each other on to their grandchildren by telling stories.

I took this poem as is and just made a short video with Clipchamp to read the poem to you. I put those words into Microsoft CoPilot’s AI feature to add a bridge and chorus. I used ChatGPT to help convert the song into a song for the Midnight Relics and make it into more of a love song for 1980’s rock. I will have that video available to listen to on my Youtube channel on Friday, but the country version is available now. I used my Suno persona of Mr. Crazy Rummagesale Man for that song. I hope you like it.

By Parcels Post, A Domestic Idyll

    By George Robert Sims




    I sent my love a parcel
        In the days when we were young,
    Or e'er by care and trouble
        Our heart-strings had been wrung.
    By parcels post I sent it,
        What 'twas I do not know,
    In the days when we were courting,
        A long time ago.

    The spring-time waxed to summer,
        Then autumn leaves grew red,
    And in the sweet September
        My love and I were wed.
    But though the Church had blessed us,
        My little wife looked glum;
    I'd posted her a parcel,
        And the parcel hadn't come.

    Ah, many moons came after,
        And then there was a voice,
    A little voice whose music
        Would make our hearts rejoice.
    And, singing to her baby,
        My dear one oft would say,
    "I wonder, baby darling,
        Will that parcel come to-day?"

    The gold had changed to silver
        Upon her matron brow;
    The years were eight-and-twenty
        Since we breathed our marriage vow,
    And our grandchildren were playing
        Hunt-the-slipper on the floor,
    When they saw the postman standing
        By our open cottage door.

    Then they ran with joy to greet him,
        For they knew he'd come at last;
    They had heard me tell the story
        Very often in the past.
    He handed them a parcel,
        And they brought it in to show,
    'Twas the parcel I had posted
        Eight-and-twenty years ago.