It had come from Anytown, America.

In the middle of nowhere,

At the front of the little old house,

On the dusty old porch,

It had sat.

Wrapped in plain old brown.

The crooked old man had put it there,

And smiled.

It was beautiful.

The tired postman had picked it up,

And the tired horse had carried it,

Down the tired, beaten path.

It had come from Anytown.

It was going anywhere.

The powerful ship had taken it,

Taken it

Across the powerful sea.

In the powerful torrents of rain.

A man picked it up

And ran down the dirty street

In the dirty, muddy rain.

To the dirty tent

In the middle of nowhere.

A young man in uniform took it,

And sat.

He had a little old box in front of him.

Wrapped in plain old brown.

It had come from Anytown.

He smiled.