Middle Class White Guy
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The Paper Round

Each dawn I mount my bike and down the roads I trundle
Delivering my bag of papers, my daily news bundle
In the cold October air, the leaves are all autumnal
But my job gives me joy and I'm never heard to grumble

As dawn light grows and the night begins to dwindle
The fresh morning air across my face makes me tingle
I stop for a moment to rummage in the brambles
Plucking out blackberries from the thorny tangles

The temperature is frosty but the breeze at least is gentle
The peace I find in these early hours is almost transcendental
At one with nature in this sylvan urban jungle
I find peace as I listen to my bike wheels trundle

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