Posties

Our Posties, who art on strike,
Hallowed be their names.
Their pay rise won; Our letters come,
On earth where it could be heaven.
Give everyone, (not just us) today their daily bread, (no more no less)
And forgive us our impatience,
As we forgive them for not delivering our letters.
For thine is the postbag, the pillar box and the van,
Now, and until next the time,  Postmen (and women)