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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.
Copyright ©
Ilene Bauer
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