No mobile phones
No internet
So my children poets whom I love dearly
What would you do?
A scrap of paper
Written on with I'll formed letter
To the girl/boy of your dreams
A grizzled old man
With a droopy mustache
Riding 150 miles
In all weathers with a six horse string
Day and night he'd ride with little food
Little rest
And he would cover that 150 miles
In two days

If he survived the weather and Indian attacks
That then was your internet