He rises at the
hour of rising sun
Facing heat, chill
and rain
To rise so early
though hard it seems
He has to, his
means of livelihood.
He has to race with flying time
Like a speeding
dart he has to be swift and smart
He has to stop at
every threshold and flat
And fling
newspapers with precision bold
In a trice he has
to rush to another lane
No time to halt and
listen to others
A mechanical
routine with no time to breathe;
Still so many
papers to distribute, ha has to run
Still so many commitments left
undone;
In this mad rushing
world he has to sustain
Himself doing odd
jobs and doing part-time course
A strange
profession with no time to read at ease
Relaxing in a sofa, sipping morning tea;
In chilly weather
and in sultry heat
In drenching rain
and in foggy morning gloom
He has to move, he
has to rush like morning gale
To greet with latest
news and surprising facts;
Ushering in changes
and kindling hopes;
A paperboy, a simple creature, he may
seem
A true messenger
who foregoes his morning sleep
And runs like a
clock and keeps himself on toes
To keep us in
touch with latest news and views
To make us see the
future trends and hopes
In this fast
changing news-obsessed world;
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