The Stamp Collector
A human by the name of Hector
Was quite a happy little guy.
He also was an avid stamp collector.
At sixty was lithe and spry.
One thing he didn't need - a comb.
Except for eyebrows he was bare.
Quite bald and shiny was his dome,
Without a single little strand of hair.
His hobby kept him up till late
Most days when he was home
Until some day he met his fate
And promised nevermore to roam.
She was a blonde, with plenty charm.
They were in love, but sad to say,
She was a ranch girl on a farm
And he lived in a city, in L.A.
So they wrote letters, first did she, then he,
Of love, of longing and of fears,
Of waiting, and of wanting near to be.
Some full of joy and some of tears.
One night he wrote and when his sleep prevailed
He went to bed, then doused his lamp.
But sad to say, the letter stayed unmailed,
Because he couldn't find a stamp.