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...
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