The Morning Paper

When I’m away, I hang a bag Or two from my front door. The guy who brings the morning paper Knows just what it’s for. He neatly folds The New York Times And places it inside, Where it will stay and wait until My home’s reoccupied. Today, nine papers filled the bag And that’s exactly right. Tomorrow I’ll start reading them, In order, and I might Get through at least a couple (And the crossword puzzles, too) For, although I know the basic news, With much, I’m overdue. I love to read the paper And in print’s the only way, So I’m grateful that where I reside, I’ll never miss a day.