Time and tide waits for no man . We must enjoy the ride.
Ah, to be a paperboy again! This dates back about 75 years ago when I was a whippersnapper. ……. Today, I may be a poet.
My ears fill with the metered hiss
Of the wound- tight newspapers
As they sail into the porches
Of my Beachmont route
Composing a riff of rhythmic thuds,
as they break the silence of the moist Kentucky morn
Now and then an impatient subscriber ventures out
To retrieve or catch the news in flight;
Their robes clutched about them
And, treating me to an occasional wave,
Each paper, a payment on my self esteem
And, a sponsor of a fresh doughnut…..
First-customer delivered , for my trip home
Along the long downhill bridle path
Recently, I visited those same spaces
Some seventy years hence, via the internet
All of those sweet little houses
That once relished fresh news
Had gone sour with the push of time;
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